Roads Less Traveled
by Vash the Vampire Slayer
Summary: Buffy is the new bartender at Seven, one of LA s most popular nightclubs. One of her new co-workers is Spike, a bleached hottie with an attitude. And a boyfriend. But everything's not as it seems.
1. Prologue

Chapter note: The songs are "Might be Stars" and "You and Me Song" by The Wannadies.  
  
There was a click of a button, a sliding sound, and a low, mechanical buzz. Then the sound of the music covered the clatter in the kitchen.  
  
"We spend our money on guitars, write songs about our broken heart."  
  
The magic 8-ball on the speaker was shaking with the rhythm of the loud music.  
  
"We're Shit City stars."  
  
From the kitchen a slightly off-tune voice started singing.  
  
"And when we don't we're still aware that we're pop revolutionaries."  
  
Then the voice stopped for a second, the amateur singer obviously trying to remember the lyrics.  
  
"Hm hm..." Eureka. "Aren't we cool!" she howled, making a perfect imitation of a deaf coyote.  
  
Humming, Buffy entered the living room/bed room carrying a tray with assorted necessities - toast, jelly and coffee, aka the holy trinity of breakfast. She was wearing white loose-fitting sweats and a blue tank top. Her subtly bleached hair fell in semi-tangled strands against her shoulders. The skin on her nose wrinkled a little as she let out a big yawn.  
  
As Buffy sat down on the couch, she slouched back against the couch pillows behind her. She reached for the big cup and sipped the hot liquid, squinting a little against the oblong stripes of noon sunlight that fell through the almost-closed blinds.  
  
Working nights was pretty good, Buffy thought, and smiled a pleased little smile. You never had to jump up out of bed at seven, rushing off to work. Good thing, 'cause, rushing - not good for the complexion. Considering that her friends kept pretty much the same hours as she did, there weren't really any big down sides to the work. She looked at her small but cozy apartment through the steam of the coffee. Well, being a bartender didn't make you rich, but she wasn't exactly starving either.  
  
In contrast to many others in her profession, for Buffy, bartending wasn't a temporary source of income to pay for college, or a means to make a living until she found a "real" job. The nightclub was an enigmatic environment, and she liked to be around people. Her co-workers were also a lot of fun, so as long as the sleazy-guy-with-greasy-hair-who-made-icky- comments ratio was low, she enjoyed her profession.  
  
Buffy hummed and pulled up her feet at the edge of the table. She made a little grimace when her eyes fell on the corny frog slippers Tara had given her for her last birthday. Well, it's the thought that counts.  
  
"Hmm hm, hm, you and me, always, and forever." The song had ended, and a new one was playing, tempting her to sing again.  
  
Some loud knocks at the door brought her out of her thoughts. She sighed to herself. Mr. Jones down the hall again. Probably the only person in the world who hadn't learned how to use a doorbell. She pulled herself off the sofa and went out into the entryway. When she opened the door a tired- looking elderly man wearing a strange red fleece jacket was staring down at her, squinting a little.  
  
"Ehm... Miss Summers," he said with a tense voice. He tilted his head, bringing out his best passive-aggressive look. "Me and the pixies were sleeping, and your music woke us. Mind turning it down, little girl?"  
  
Buffy shifted her weight uncomfortably.  
  
"Yeah, sure," she said. "Turn it down. Got it." She sighed and started closing the door.  
  
"And Miss Summers," his voice slipped through the opening. "It's not Satanist music you're playing, is it?"  
  
Buffy slammed the door shut. Sometimes she was sure that she had ticked of some kind of housing goddess or something. 'Cause these weird people always seemed to pile up around her wherever she lived. Like the chinchilla- loving lady at the last place, who chipped little pieces of floor tile from famous buildings she visited. Buffy looked at the small ziplock bag with a beige piece of ceramic in it, labeled "WTC. May 1997," that lay in a bowl on the TV. "It's valuable now when the buildings are gone," the old woman had said with a solemn face as she handed it to Buffy as a going-away present. "It's like with dead artists, you know. If you ever get poor, think about selling it on eBay before considering getting into prostitution."  
  
Yeah, whatever. It is still the thought that counts.  
  
Well, nothing was going to destroy her happy mood today, she decided as she walked back to the sofa and finished her breakfast after turning the music down. There had been talk about minor pay raises for, like, forever. Perhaps salary 2.0 would at least buy her a new pair of slippers. Hopefully, a pair that didn't have eyes.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
How come every staff room in the world looked almost exactly the same? There was the fitted carpet, the cheap looking chairs, and the whiteboard that always had strange notes nobody could decipher, left from some earlier meeting with god knows who. And then there were the fluorescent lamps that completed the impersonal impression. Buffy was grateful that they at least had omitted the inspirational posters. What would the message of choice be in their business? "Intoxication. It gets lots of ugly people laid"?  
  
The room was filled with talking employees who were waiting for the meeting to start and glancing at the big cinnamon rolls that were going to be consumed afterwards. Finally, the boss arrived. As he took his place at the end of the table, he fiddled a little with the papers in front of him before he started talking.  
  
"Well, ehm..."  
  
The chatter in the room stopped, and everybody looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  
  
"I guess that we should get right down to business." Now he was visibly squirming. "The thing is..." he coughed, getting a sip of water before he continued. "Finances haven't been very good lately."  
  
The employees around the table started feeling a bit uncomfortable. Recently announced staff meeting + nervous boss = badness.  
  
"We have been unable to get the income we need these last months, and unfortunately the club has been repossessed by the bank. We have tried to find a buyer, but nobody has given us a bid that would cover the debts. I'm sorry to inform you all that we are forced to close down."  
  
Now the squirming escalated into loud discussions, and angry questions to the boss:  
  
"Surely there must be something you can do?!"  
  
"What are we gonna do now? How are we going to pay our bills?!"  
  
"Can't you take another loan?!"  
  
As Stewart continued talking, Buffy sat silent, feeling numb. Goodbye eyeless slippers, hello future payless state. At the moment there were almost more unemployed bartenders in LA than there were struggling actors/waiters. Mental note: consider an actor/waiter career.  
  
She heard a voice next to her, but she didn't really listen  
  
"Don't you think, Buffy?"  
  
"Huh?" Buffy was brought out of her career planning by Kendra's whispering voice.  
  
"Don't you think that they could have told us sooner that there were problems?" The dark skinned girl looked at her like she expected Buffy to say something to make it all better.  
  
"Well, yeah," Buffy said quietly, looking around the table at her unemployed co-workers. "God, I feel all panicky!"  
  
"Listen, you're great at what you do. Don't worry, you'll get a new job in no time," Riley cut in, while throwing her a shy smile.  
  
Buffy sighed inwardly. She had known for a while that he had a thing for her.. He was friendly, funny and helpful, not to mention well-built. In theory he was perfect boyfriend material, but he didn't manage to bring out that crucial spark. In short, he was safe to handle around flammable liquids and he kept her belly butterfly-free, sort of like an exterminator- guy in anti-stat suit.  
  
Buffy suddenly caught a less-than-subtle glare in the corner of her eye. Kendra quickly looked down at the table.  
  
"You know what we should do?" Riley leaned closer to Buffy. "We should all have a party. You know, to cheer us up."  
  
"Party?" she said, looking a bit annoyed about his cheerful mood.  
  
"Well, can't hurt, can it? We can throw it at my place," he continued.  
  
Riley had a huge apartment in a good part of town. It wasn't thanks to the bartender job, though. His father was a big shot general, and he had decided that if his son was stubborn enough to work in such an embarrassing profession, he should at least not put shame on his father by living in some cheap apartment. Hence: big place. Great for parties.  
  
"Great idea!" Kendra smiled widely at Riley. "Can I help?"  
  
"Sure." Riley turned to Kendra. "We could get coffee at Starbucks and make some lists." Kendra looked giddy.  
  
As Buffy left the club an hour later and walked out into the sunny parking lot she sighed heavily. Well, isn't this typical. That's what you get for being cheerful - destiny biting you in the ass. "Better not try to cheer up," she thought as she walked to her car, "or I'll probably loose a couple of limbs in a freak pez dispenser accident or something."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"This is so depressing! I'm depresso-girl!" Buffy whined into the receiver twenty minutes later when she had returned to her apartment.  
  
"Hey! Depresso-girl sounds like some cool supervillain," Willow replied, trying to take Buffy's mind off things. "Oh, Godzilla vs. the Depresso- girl! That would definitely be a hit!"  
  
"Well, if I'm going to be a Japanese supervillain, I'm at least not going to be subtitled," Buffy pouted.  
  
Willow giggled. "Don't let Xander hear that. Dubbed Asian movies make him ramble. And Xander's ramblings can pretty much poke eyes out of unsuspecting bystanders."  
  
"Well, I don't really know him that well yet, so thanks for the heads up." Buffy was amazed by her oldest friend's ability to always make her feel better in no time. "I'll just add it to the list: No talking about clowns, no subtitle stuff. Check."  
  
"You know, there might be a simple solution to all this, one that hopefully will keep you from standing in the welfare lines."  
  
"Oh, please do tell." Buffy lay back on her bed, twirling the phone cord around her finger, still sulking.  
  
"Well, I work at a nightclub, don't I?  
  
Buffy sighed to herself. Why hadn't she thought of that? Post Traumatic Unemployment Shock?  
  
"I'm sure I could do the puppy eyed thing with my boss," Willow continued. "I'm always working like a ferret on a sugar rush, he owes me one. Oh, but a cute ferret, not one that bites children's fingers off or pees in people's shoes!" Silence. "Got a bit side tracked there, huh?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Anyway," she continued, "you've got experience, and good references, don't you?"  
  
"Well, yeah..."  
  
"It would be fun! We would be work buddies too. We could gossip at the coffee breaks and stuff!" she continued, showing off some classic Willow- enthusiasm™.  
  
"Coffee break" probably isn't the correct term." Buffy picked up a button marked "World's best booze seller!" that lay on her nightstand and flipped it between her fingers. "It's more like time off to get a smoke or go to the bathroom. Possibly have quick sex with some substitute girl in a closet."  
  
"Parker?"  
  
"Uh huh." Buffy chewed absentmindedly on her lip. "Almost got himself fired for that one."  
  
"Kind of harsh."  
  
"Well, it was the boss's daughter."  
  
"Oops," Willow replied.  
  
"Oops, indeed." Buffy rolled her eyes. "By the way, I totally forgot!" she continued. "My ex-coworkers are planning to throw a farewell party at Riley's next Friday. We're going to drown our sorrow in lots of alcohol. Want to come along? I'm sure that there will be lots off passed-out people we can poke at and arrange in embarrassing positions."  
  
"Well, I don't think I'm busy. And, well, it seems like a pretty depressing theme for a party. You probably could use some moral support."  
  
"Great! Anyway," Buffy sighed, "you'll talk to your boss?"  
  
"Yeah, first thing tomorrow. Bring out your resume and your brightest smile!" Again with the undying optimism.  
  
"I will." Buffy smiled a little. "Talk to you later."  
  
"Yeah. Bye."  
  
Buffy pressed on the end call button and tossed the phone in the direction of her nightstand. Her body fell back on the bed with a low thump. Perhaps things would work out after all. Seven - the nightclub where Willow worked - was one of the hottest places in LA at the moment. Which meant big tippers. Buffy suddenly felt a bit hopeful. She glanced over at the clock. Oh, almost time for the rerun of The Bachelor, she thought as she sat up and reached for the remote.  
  
When Willow hung up she sighed sympathetically. She would definitely panic too if it was she who had lost her job. She actually put away some money every month, just in case. Some would probably think that it was overkill, but "better safe than sorry" was practically Willow's middle name.  
  
She took a big breath and picked up the phone again. "Hello, it's Willow." Her voice tensed up a little from nervousness. "I was just...just wondering...do we need any more bartenders at Seven?" 


	2. 80's Movies Are the Source of All Evil

"This place is really cool!" Buffy said to Willow while looking out over the premises.  
  
Those who weren't used to seeing nightclubs without the darkness and the colored spotlights often found them disappointing sights. They often looked like big storage rooms, and all the sleazy details became all-too visible in the fluorescent light, like the chewing gum trampled into the carpet, and the alcohol stains on the sofas and the chairs. But as Buffy looked out over Seven, she saw the potential. She had been here several times, and this was indeed a really amazing club.  
  
It was built in several levels, and had three separate dance floors, but there were also areas quiet enough for talking and relaxing. The bright colors and the lighting gave the place a futuristic look. It was always packed, and vibrating with the heavy techno, club, and house music. Lately it had quickly become *the* place to be, simply because it had that indefinable atmosphere that marked the distinct difference between a good club and a great one.  
  
Buffy felt more than happy that she had gotten this job, not to mention incredibly lucky. One of the bartenders had recently been fired for stealing from the register, and she was pretty much needed right away. It was only about a week and a half since she had called Willow, and she was already getting the introduction. Good thing she wasn't the only one in a crisis situation, she thought as they proceeded through the room.  
  
They passed a half-circle-shaped bar, painted in a bright orange with scattered embedded squares of thick glass. On the wall there was a big collection of all sorts of alcohol, bottles in all shapes and colours. In the area around the bar there were a number of small, round tables, made for standing at. To the left there was a big round dance floor, with a small stage for live performances.  
  
"Here's one of the places you'll be working at," Willow said while nodding towards the bar. "There's one on all four floors."  
  
They continued up S-shaped stairs, covered in an orange carpet that matched the color of the bar. On both sides of the stairs there were curved spaces that held a number of large, green plants, lit up from beneath by a number of spotlights. From this position Buffy looked over another area of the first floor. A wave-shaped wall, a few feet high, created a partly secluded area with booths that were separated from each other by semi-transparent colored walls. The floor was scattered with tables made of a white frosted material, and with built-in lighting in the middle of each table. They were matched with high chairs that looked more pretty than comfortable. Flat, square orange lamps lighted the white walls.  
  
When they came to the top of the stairs they were standing on an almost identical floor, only with a yellow theme instead of an orange one.  
  
As Buffy looked out over the room she spotted a few employees busy with different chores. Two young women were busy carrying trays of bottles into a room next to the bar, and she could hear the sound of someone vacuuming somewhere in the back of the room.  
  
"That's Tracy and Joan," Willow said while pointing towards the girls. "Tracy's nice, and Joan is... um... Joan," she whispered.  
  
Buffy had opened her mouth to comment on Willow's assessment, as a couple of guys, absorbed in a private conversation, exited from the door where Tracy and Joan had disappeared. She recognized one of them as Xander.  
  
"Christ, give it up, mate!" the other man said while smiling. He reluctantly caught a bottle that came spinning through the air. "Or at least don't walk while doin' it!" The source of the British voice was a peroxide blond man. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, and a matching black t-shirt that left little of the muscles underneath to the imagination. High cheekbones and bright, blue eyes perfected the ruggedly handsome impression.  
  
Buffy noticed her pulse quickening. She couldn't help getting a dreamy look in her eyes. God, that blond guy was gorgeous!  
  
"No, I'm sure I can pull this of!" Xander answered while yanking the bottle from his friend's hand. His brown hair was just a little bit too long, and fell into his eyes when he turned his head. He was a friendly-looking guy, though obviously with a somewhat questionable fashion sense. If Hawaiian shirts could be considered fashion.  
  
As they got behind the bar, the blond guy pulled out a cutting board and a basket with lemons, while somewhat anxiously glancing towards the other man, who once more sent the bottle spinning through the air.  
  
"If Tom Cruise can do it, I can," Xander said with a voice that revealed great concentration. He clumsily caught it before it almost crashed into the register. "Might be some kind of supernatural scientology power involved," he muttered.  
  
The other man flinched, then picked up a large knife and started cutting the lemons in thin slices. "Well, I don't bloody well see you tryin' to perform breakin' and enterin' in government server rooms either, so give it a rest."  
  
Xander once more sent the bottle into the air; it spun around a few times, and then headed in a direct trajectory towards the blond man's head. As he spotted it heading his way, he quickly jumped back, letting it crash into the counter. The smashed bottle sprayed its content over both employees. While escaping the imminent bottle-accident, the blond man had accidentally dropped the knife, which twirled through the air, and then fell to the floor, burrowing itself in the wooden flooring between his feet.  
  
Soaking wet with alcohol, he stared furiously up at the Cruise wannabe next to him "Bloody hell! Are you tryin' to make me a eunuch!?"  
  
"Um...No." The bottle thrower looked a bit jittery. "But I heard that that Bobbit guy made a lot of money doing weird porn... " he joked while shaking his soaking sleeves.  
  
"I'm happy with my career, thank you very much!" the blond one yelled. "Not planning to get into the amputee porn business any time soon!"  
  
At this point Willow cleared her throat, getting the attention of the soaked men. "Alcohol isn't a toy, you know." She crossed her arms and looked mock serious. "And think of all the kids in Africa who haven't got any Jack Daniels."  
  
There was an embarrassing moment of silence. Both men looked like five-year- olds who had been caught scaring the neighbor's cat with firecrackers. "This is all Jerry Bruckheimer's fault!" Xander finally blurted out while holding his hands up defensively. "And I'm sticking with that story!"  
  
"You wanker," Spike sighed. "Jerry Bruckheimer didn't make Cocktail."  
  
"What do you know, British guy?" Xander said accusingly, while pointing his finger at the other bartender.  
  
"He made all those other 80's movies, like Top Gun and Flash Dance. Not Cocktail," he stated confidently.  
  
"Ok, Then I'm blaming..." He looked questioning at the blond man. "Who am I blaming...?"  
  
Once more Willow cleared her throat. "Focus, guys! We have a new co-worker - Buffy. She starts working here on Saturday." The bickering men ended their trivia battle and turned their attention towards the two amused women on the other side of the bar.  
  
"Wow," Buffy said to Willow while raising an eyebrow. "Must be like working in a sitcom."  
  
"Too bad then that I'm not getting paid like Jennifer Aniston," Willow pouted. "Ok, you have met Xander."  
  
"Hi there, Buffster!" Xander said, waving his hand.  
  
"Buffster?" Willow laughed.  
  
"Well, she needs a nickname," he defended himself. "So she feels like one of the gang."  
  
"Christ, this isn't Happy Days!" The blond man cocked his head and smiled. "Buffy sounds just fine to me."  
  
Buffy couldn't help blushing a little bit. His smile was gorgeous too.  
  
"Your savior from nickname hell is Spike." Willow pointed towards the peroxide bartender. "Well, actually it's William," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. "But don't call him that, it makes him cranky."  
  
"Hey, I heard that!" The muscles in Spike's jaws were twitching.  
  
"Ooh, did I hurt poor William's feelings?" she taunted.  
  
"Hey, watch it!"  
  
Willow giggled at the adolescent behavior of her colleagues. "Ok, Buffy, we don't have time for this." She looked at her watch. "The boss is waiting for you."  
  
She started walking towards the stairs to the third floor, and Buffy followed reluctantly, ignoring the stubborn pull of the butterflies in her belly. "See you guys!" Buffy said while waving goodbye, taking a last glance at Spike. As they left, she heard the men's voices fading behind them:  
  
"But Coyote Ugly? That's definitely Jerry Bruckheimer!"  
  
"Should I expect you to start practicing wet t-shirt dancin' on the bar, then?"  
  
"They are kind of corny, but nice to be around, and, believe it or not, actually good bartenders," Willow said as she and Buffy passed through a floor with a green design. In the back of the room there was a door labeled "Staff Only." They walked into a short corridor, to a door with the name "Stevensson" on it.  
  
"We're opening soon, so I have to go downstairs and do the last preparations," Willow sighed. "Oh, and about the party at Riley's tomorrow, should I come by and pick you up at eight?"  
  
"Well, since you're volunteering to be the designated driver..."  
  
Willow frowned a little. "Good old faithful, huh?"  
  
"Nope," Buffy smiled. "Remember last week when you refused to drive some stuff for Xander?"  
  
"Oh, you mean not agreeing to pick up the huge collection of vintage Playboys he bought on eBay at the post office?" Willow giggled. "Yeah, I could practically hear god erase my name from the guest list in heaven." Both girls laughed.  
  
"Ok, enough of Casual Buffy. Time for Work Buffy." Buffy put on her serious face.  
  
"You're right. Good luck with the boss"  
  
"Yeah. Good luck with the margaritas."  
  
As Willow turned and walked back through the corridor, Buffy took a breath and knocked. A few seconds later the door was yanked open, and a tall, smiling black man stood in front of her.  
  
"Hi, you must be Buffy!" he said while enthusiastically shaking her hand with a sweaty palm. "Please, come in!"  
  
As they started discussing regulations and schedules, her mind slipped back to the sexy bleached bartender with the beautiful blue eyes. Yeah, this job was definitely going to be interesting.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Buffy jumped clumsily on one foot while attempting the art of putting on a shoe at the same time as she was getting the door. The un-tied ribbons of her halter top flapped around her neck, and she had a couple of hair pins sticking out of her mouth. "Coming, coming," she mumbled through clenched teeth.  
  
"Running late, are we?" Willow said as Buffy opened the door. She was standing in the hallway, dressed in a knee-long maroon dress made of a silky material. Her hair was pinned up in a tangled knot, and she was wearing hints of subtle makeup.  
  
"There were extenuating circumstances," Buffy said cheerfully as she removed the pins from her mouth and walked over to the hallway mirror.  
  
"Sex and the City-related extenuating circumstances?" Willow asked, smiling.  
  
"Sort of," Buffy admitted.  
  
"I'm guessing that there was sex?"  
  
"Duh!" Buffy tied the straps of her top. "Tada! Party setting - on!" Dressed in a pastel blue top, a white skirt, and white sandals, she was simply screaming 'summer.'  
  
"Wow, you look gorgeous!" Willow complimented. "Is there someone special you plan to impress? 'Cause in that case I'm officially offended about being left out of the drooling-loop."  
  
"Nope. Nobody special." At least not that's is going to be within impressing-range tonight, she added silently. "Let's go. Party time!"  
  
Buffy grabbed her purse and walked out to Willow, who was still standing in the hallway. As they started walking down the hall, Willow suddenly smacked her forehead in a classic cartoonmanner. "Oh, I forgot to ask you! Is it ok to bring a few people to this party? It's not a 'co-workers, and possibly their best friends only' thing, right?  
  
"No, I don't think so. Why?" Buffy said as she pushed the elevator button.  
  
"Well, Spike and Xander were kind of bored, and they wanted to come along. Is that ok? I was going to call you today and ask, but I completely forgot."  
  
Buffy could feel her heart taking a big jump in her chest. "Um... that won't be a problem. Not at all."  
  
The doors to the elevator opened, and they stepped in.  
  
"Really?" Willow looked embarrassed. "'Cause I kind of told them to go there unless you said no."  
  
"Parties are made for meeting new people, right?" Buffy said as the elevator let out a friendly 'ping.' "And new people are kind of a requirement for that."  
  
They walked out into warm, starry night, and crossed the street, heading towards Willow's car. "So Willow, I was thinking..." Buffy said smiling. "This Spike guy. You know him well?"  
  
"Oooh!" Willow piped, pointing an accusing finger at Buffy. "Not 'someone special, 'huh?"  
  
"Well... not at the party, as far as I knew." Buffy grinned. "So I'm home free."  
  
As they got into the car, Buffy smiled enthusiastically. "Still waiting for Spike info here."  
  
"Sorry." Willow said with an empathetic grimace. "He's taken."  
  
Oh crap. "Well, obviously." Buffy slumped back into her seat in pouting mode.  
  
"Well, it's not like he's all great anyway," Willow said, trying to be comforting. "He's got really terrible taste in music, there's kind of an attitude problem. And, oh! He's got stupid hair!"  
  
Buffy sulked. "Why are all the pretty guys always taken?"  
  
"Well," Willow stated matter of factly as she turned the car towards the main road. "Because they're pretty?"  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"I'm guessing that this is the place," Xander said as they spotted the herd of cars outside a big apartment building. Sounds of music and laughter came from an open window on the second floor.  
  
"Well, yeah." They got out of Xander's rusty old Volvo, and Spike lit a cigarette, puffing out a small cloud of smoke.  
  
"I hope Buffy and Willow are here already. It's not like we know anyone else at the party."  
  
"Oh, come on!" Spike said with the cigarette bobbing in the corner of his mouth, "Don't be a chicken!" He cheerfully slapped Xander's back and started walking to the front door with his friend trailing behind him. Spikes trademark black coat fluttered around him, giving him that cool superhero look. As always, he walked almost like a big predator, and radiated a natural confidence.  
  
A couple of women who stood outside the entrance smoking ogled Spike relentlessly as he came their way. Before he and Xander got inside, Spike took one last, long huff at the cigarette and leaned over next to the girls to drop it in the water-filled jar that functioned as a temporary ashtray. "Hi, girls," he said with a cocky grin, causing them to giggle. Xander couldn't help throwing a jealous glare at his buddy.  
  
"What was the guy's name again?" Spike said as they made their way up the stairs towards the music.  
  
"Um...Riley something." Xander pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocked. "Finn."  
  
"Riley Finn? What kind of a poofter name is that? Oh, here it is." Spike opened the door.  
  
"Must be a rich poofter though," Xander said as he looked in at the roomy apartment. The place was filled with people, talking, drinking and eating tiny scraps of food jammed on toothpicks. This was clearly a party that had outgrown its original purpose as a work related get-together.  
  
"Well in that case it's our duty to eat as many snacks as possible," Spike grinned. "You know, for the sake of the proletariat. Or somethin'." Spike laid his coat on the big pile of jackets that had formed after the hangers and hooks had run out.  
  
Xander threw a lusting eye at a group of pretty girls who were socializing in the living room. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and make a fool out of myself," he joked.  
  
"You do that," Spike chuckled. As Xander disappeared into the crowd, Spike surveyed the place and sighed. This seemed like one of those parties with a few too many dull guys and stuck-up women. It was clearly more of a gin and tonic type of party than a beer and pretzels affair. As he was getting ready to resign himself to a dull evening of finger food and boring conversations, he spotted The New Girl through the crowd, leaning against a doorpost. She was absent-mindedly fiddling with an empty glass, looking terribly bored. Well, she might be fun, he thought, and headed her way.  
  
Buffy sighed and stared down at her empty glass. She didn't know that it was humanly possible to be this bored at a party. And hanging about all alone made her feel like a total looser. Her friends and co-workers had all managed to end up with cliques of people she didn't know and didn't find interesting. Even Willow had abandoned her. She had ended up on a sofa, flirting with some guy. Good old faithful, huh?  
  
"Either you're bored to death, or that glass is really interestin'."  
  
The sound of the British voice through the noise and music jolted her out of her self pity. As she turned towards him, her brain buzzed a little from attraction, but she also felt the twinge of disappointment in her gut. Stupid non-single guy, she thought to herself.  
  
"Well, I'm going with a) "bored to death," she smiled a little at her peroxide co-worker. "How about you? Feeling suicidal yet?"  
  
"Nope." He leaned back on the opposing side of the doorpost, crossing his arms. "But I just got here, so if you wait for a while I'm sure I'll start scramblin' for prescription pills in the bathroom in no time."  
  
"So, you're Spike, huh?", Buffy said after a moment of silence, grinning. "I'd love to know where that nickname came from."  
  
"Sounds like you're expectin' some cool and/or kinky answer to that?"  
  
"Preferably."  
  
"In that case: I got it as an alter ego when I was working in the porn business..." He paused, smiling. "No, actually it's a hair related thing."  
  
"The porn explanation was better," Buffy pouted. "You know, one could make lots of money in that business, at least on amputee porn. Or so I've heard."  
  
"Bringin' up traumatic incidents, are we?" Spike laughed at Buffy's boldness.  
  
"Oh puh-leease. Little Spike is intact. Don't think that you need crisis counseling." Buffy suddenly caught a sad gaze out of the corner of her eye. It seemed like Riley finally had spotted her, and wasn't too happy with what he saw. Note to self, she thought, have a talk with Riley.  
  
"So, what do you do at boring parties?" Spike sighed, and leaned his head back against the doorpost.  
  
"Well," Buffy mimicked his slouching position. "Sometimes when I'm bored, I make up stories about the people around me. Like what they work with and stuff."  
  
"Ok," Spike said as he gazed out over the guests. "That one." He pointed at a tall, skinny man in a grey shirt.  
  
"Hm..." She tilted her head, thinking. "He's a nurse. With a secret shoe fetish."  
  
Spike smiled. "That girl over there. The blonde one. She's a chef at some sleazy restaurant, and spits in the soup of rude customers. She collects vintage plates with cat motifs, and kind of has the hots for Captain Kirk.  
  
As they continued talking and laughing, Buffy soon forgot her jealous mood in the comfort of Spike's company.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
With a big yawn, Spike unlocked the door. Home sweet home, he thought. As he closed the door he fell back against it with a thump, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He smiled a little, recalling tonight's events. That Buffy girl sure was a blast. Spike couldn't remember the last time he had had this much fun.  
  
He squinted through the dark hallway, which was only illuminated by the stray light from the bedside lamp in the bedroom. The digital clock by the phone said 4:32. Bed time, he thought to himself, and headed towards the bathroom.  
  
Passing the bedroom, he suddenly felt a pair of arms encircling his waist. Spike gasped from the surprise, then sighed as arms pulled him back against the warm body behind him. "I thought you were out of town," Spike breathed as he felt soft lips trailing a path down his neck.  
  
"I was. Now I'm not." The warm breaths against his skin quickly made him forget his tiredness, and his eyes closed as compelling hands caressed the muscles on his chest and abdomen. The whispering voice against his ear made him shiver. "I need that hot, tight body of yours." Spike felt himself being slowly maneuvered into the bedroom.  
  
In one quick move, Spike's shirt was off, and he felt a tongue trailing up the length of his spine; Spike arched his body back against the touch. "Mm...you taste so good," the voice continued. "Like sex and decadence." Skilled fingers caressed Spike's nipples, eliciting a loud moan.  
  
"I want you on the bed. Now." Two seconds later Spike was pinned down on the mattress, a punishing mouth covering his. Their lips were battling furiously, their tongues sliding wetly around each other.  
  
They parted for a moment, and he vaguely noticed that clothes were coming off. A sweater fell to the bed and pants and underwear dropped in a pile at the floor. Spike closed his eyes in anticipation. He was panting heavily, and arousal was burning its way through his body like a rapidly progressing forest fire. Spike could feel the weight of knees and hands in the mattress on both sides of his body. He kept still, feeling the lustful gazes roaming over his body. A tingle crept down his spine from the proximity of bare skin, so close, but not touching.  
  
Warm breath suddenly hit his face. Spike felt the faintest touch of lips grazing his mouth. He arced up, desperately trying to gain contact, but the other body remained elusive. "Do you want me?" The words slipped out almost inaudible between lips that were barely touching. It was more of a statement than a question.  
  
"Yes!" Spike gasped.  
  
As lips and tongue started moving seductively down Spike's lean and muscular body he was quickly engulfed by passion, forgetting everything but the touch, the way it made his body feel, the way his skin was humming underneath the smooth, wet friction. Proficient hands quickly removed the last pieces of Spike's clothes. He felt forceful fingertips setting out a path down the side of his body, and almost unconsciously he bent his legs to provide better access. He wanted more. More skin, more lips, more touching in all the right places. He had never felt like this with anyone else. Like sex was art, and he was the canvas.  
  
Skilled fingers move slowly up the inside of his thigh, lips trailing south, tasting him enthusiastically like he was a nummy treat, coated with chocolate. Then suddenly the hand and mouth was gone. Spike whimpered from the loss of contact. As he opened his eyes he met a demanding gaze, filled with uncompromising want. The mouth of his lover was hovering only an inch from his throbbing member. Spike knew how this game was played.  
  
"Please," he whispered with a trembling voice.  
  
He heard the sound of a cap opening. Seconds later the most talented mouth and tongue he'd ever experienced devoured him to the hilt, and he soon felt two slick fingers slip inside of him. He flung his head back against the pillow, and arched his body in pleasure.  
  
"Angel!" he moaned. 


	3. Boy Meets Boy

Chapter note: The chapter title comes from the great online comic Boy Meets Boy, now sadly "cancelled":   
  
Spike's eyes fluttered open. He stretched out his body in a feline manner and let out something between a yawn and a moan. A smile played on his lips. He never slept as well as after a great shag. Or three. He could live without the dried bodily fluids though, he thought as he felt a sudden itch on his thigh. As he turned he noticed to his discontent that Angel wasn't there. He got out of the bed and made his way towards the indistinct noises coming from the kitchen.  
  
"Makin' a run for it, luv?" Spike said, leaning back against the doorpost with crossed arms and a seductive smile  
  
The bright morning sunlight painted Spike's naked body a golden shade, and he formed an almost comical contrast to Angel, who was dressed in a suit and currently straightening his tie.  
  
"I've got to prepare for a meeting with a client," Angel said with an austere expression.  
  
"Really?" Spike said with a husky voice. "Cause I'm pretty damn sure you'll have a better time stayin' here, shaggin' me senseless."  
  
"I'm sure I would, but then again, being able to pay the bills is fun too," Angel said as he walked up to Spike. He leaned his body against Spike's and started kissing him.  
  
"So, what did you do last night?" Angel said between kisses. "Were you at a club or something?"  
  
"Hmhm..." Spike murmured into Angel's mouth. "Party." He felt Angel's hand starting to caress his thigh and grunted a little.  
  
"So..." Kiss. "Were there any..." Kiss. "Pretty guys there?"  
  
Spike was scrambling for a coherent answer from his lust filled mind. "Um..." Kiss. "Didn't notice." Angel's hand slid over his upper thigh and continued over the underside of Spike's increasingly hard cock. Spike gasped in response and deepened the kiss with growing passion.  
  
"Any pretty girls, then?" Angel continued, letting his hand play lightly over the sensitive skin.  
  
"Hmmm..." Spike moaned, pushing his naked body against Angel's suit-covered torso, tangling his fingers in Angel's hair. "Not really..." he mumbled.  
  
"Hot guys like you get noticed." Angel's fingers slid around Spike's hard member in a firm grip and stroked it slowly a few times. "You know I get jealous." Spike didn't reply; he just threw back his head and moaned loudly.  
  
Suddenly Angel released his grip and pulled free of Spike's tight embrace. Spike was breathing heavily, and looked at his lover with confusion. "Hey! You're just gonna go?"  
  
Angel looked at his watch and grabbed his suitcase. "I told you that I have work to do."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Have to go. I'll see you later." And then he was out the door.  
  
Spike fell back against the doorpost, rubbing his face with a frustrated grimace. He looked down at his condition and sighed. "Great. Just great," he said as he started walking towards the bathroom.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Six months earlier.  
  
"Christ, mum, I can't believe you made me come here!" Spike crossed his arms and sighed.  
  
"I didn't make you, I asked you nicely," Jenny answered, smiling. "You wouldn't want to miss the opening of your own mother's gallery, would you?"  
  
"Yeah, whatever." Spike grabbed a tiny food-like item from a nearby tray.  
  
The gallery was filled with well-dressed guests looking at the colorful paintings on the wall. Serious chatter filled the room, accompanied by constrained gestures.  
  
"They've all got those really pretentious expressions goin' on, so I'm guessin' that they like it." Spike took a bite of the pastry, and his face scrunched up from distaste. "Bloody hell, mum! What is this?"  
  
Jenny chuckled. "Seaweed tarts."  
  
"Eew!" Spike grabbed a plastic glass of champagne and drank it quickly to get the taste out of his mouth. "Yeah, this night is just getting better and better." Spike winced. "And I don't even like art."  
  
"Oh, come on," Jenny said, waving to a couple of acquaintances. "Complaining doesn't make it better."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike spotted a dark-haired man in a sober black suit heading their way.  
  
"Oh, hello Angel. Glad you could make it." Jenny reached out and shook his hand.  
  
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," the man said, smiling.  
  
"Spike, this is Angel."  
  
As Spike reached out and shook Angel's hand, dark, intense eyes were suddenly looking at him, studying him. Something about the other man made Spike feel confused, a little bit rattled. There was something predatory about him. Something Spike couldn't shake off. Angel held a firm grip on Spike's hand just a little bit longer than what one usually expected. As he let go, he smiled. "So, you're Jenny's son?"  
  
"Uh..." Spike's strange feeling lingered. "Yeah."  
  
"Angel is the lawyer from Wolfram and Hart who helped me with all that boring legal stuff for the gallery." Jenny handed Angel a glass, and raised her own. "To fine art and good finances!"  
  
"To fine art and good finances!" As the glasses went *clink*, Angel caught Spike's eyes once more.  
  
Spike was starting to feel annoyed with the weird vibes Angel sent off. "So" he said, crossing his arms. "Angel. What kind of name is that?"  
  
Angel arched a brow. "What kind of name is Spike?" When Spike just glared, he continued, "Actually, it's Liam. Angel's just a nickname."  
  
"Is that so?" Spike cocked his head.  
  
The brief moment of silence that followed was suddenly broken by a shrill voice. "Angel? Is that you?" As Angel turned to the middle-aged lady who called for his attention, Jenny looked over at Spike.  
  
"Let's go and say hi to my investor. Sucking up is good for business, you know." As she made her way across the room, Spike follow, wondering what the hell had just happened.  
  
An hour later Spike was standing on the balcony, having a smoke. The warm, calm summer night had a soothing effect. He could practically feel all the lingering chatter melting away from his nerves. Hopefully this event would soon be over so he could get back to his bed and get a good night's sleep. Art folks couldn't possibly be night people. Could they?  
  
"So, this is where you've been hiding?" At the sound of Angel's voice, Spike felt his body go instantly tense.  
  
"What's it to you?" Spike blew out a small nicotine-enriched fog, not bothering to turn around.  
  
Angel walked up next to him and leaned his arms on the railing, looking out over the city below. "Nice night," he said.  
  
"Well yeah," Spike answered indifferently, inhaling the last dose of unhealthy substances that the cigarette had to offer.  
  
"You don't like me, do you?" Angel stated.  
  
"I don't know you." Spike put out his cigarette in the ashtray and turned to go inside again.  
  
Suddenly Angel got up in front of him, placing his hands on the railing on both sides of Spike before he could get any further.  
  
"Hey, what...?" Spike was completely taken by surprise by Angel's actions.  
  
"But I like you. William." Angel leaned his body close to Spike's, and looked him firmly in the eyes. A confident smile played on Angel's lips. "You're a really handsome man. But then again, you probably knew that already."  
  
For once in his life, Spike was completely at a loss for words.  
  
Angel raised one of his hands and slowly ran his fingers along Spike's sharply pronounced jaw. "When I see something I like, I get it," he said with a husky voice. "And I want you."  
  
"Hey! Not interested!" Spike wasn't entirely sure why he didn't punch the other man in the face, considering that this was practically sexual harassment. Spike was utterly disturbed to notice that he was blushing. And even more disturbed to feel that blood was suddenly rushing to other parts of his body as well.  
  
Angel leaned a little bit closer. His hand trailed down Spike's neck and stopped on his now heaving chest. Spike stared down at the hand that was resting on his body. Why the hell did he let Angel do this to him? He was another man for Christ's sake! He tried to kick-start his cerebral functions, but his body seemed to have a life of his own. "I'm...I'm straight," he finally stuttered.  
  
Angel cocked his head and smile seductively. He pulled out a business card from the pocket of his suit, and stuck the corner under the waistband of Spike's pants, briefly sliding it over the muscles of his abdomen in the process. "When you get over it, call me." And with that he pulled away from Spike.  
  
Spike was completely flustered. With shaking hands, he pulled up the business card and stared at it for a moment. "I'm really straight, you know!" he shouted after the infuriating lawyer, but Angel was already gone.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Buffy looked at the locker in front of her, which was labeled "Buffy." So, this was it, she was actually working here. She sighed. Not that she wasn't happy to be employed again, and the co-workers seemed to be great and all, but still... The last club had been her workplace since she had started in the business several years ago. A new job meant losing the comfort of knowing exactly how everything worked, but also losing the day-to-day interaction with the co-workers she had been working with for so long.  
  
As Buffy pulled off her sweater she heard the door opening behind her. "Hi Buffy!" Willow said as she entered the locker room. As Buffy turned, she noticed that Willow was in an unusually good mood.  
  
"Well, don't you look happy today!" Buffy smiled.  
  
"Well..." Willow looked secretive, but it didn't take long for her to break. "I met a guy at the party yesterday!"  
  
"Ooh! Spill!" Buffy said..  
  
"Well," Willow sat down on one of the benches. "His name is Oz."  
  
"Like the prison series?"  
  
"No," Willow pouted. "Like the Judy Garland movie. So, anyway, he plays guitar in a band. Isn't that the coolest thing ever?"  
  
"Sure. That and air conditioning." Buffy sat down next to Willow on the bench.  
  
"He's really adorable and funny!" Willow sounded giddy. "And he's got such cute technicolour hair. He's sort of cartoony. Oh, but in a sexy way. Not like a roadrunner."  
  
"Good thing, 'cause that could be exhausting. So..." Buffy took Willow's hands and looked at her, smiling. "Are you two going to go out?"  
  
Willow frowned. "Well, he didn't ask me out. So no, I guess."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Maybe you missed the memo, but this is the 21st century! Nowadays we girls can vote and own property and stuff. And, by god, even ask guys out!"  
  
"Not being an anti-feminist here. Just... "  
  
"Ask him!" Buffy put her arm around Willow. "If he's stupid enough to turn you down, I've got some rocky road in my freezer."  
  
"So, how about you?" Willow said, smiling at Buffy, clearly eager to change the subject. "What did you do at the party? Met any guys?"  
  
"No, just Spike, our taken co-worker. But he's really nice actually. And funny. We talked for hours!"  
  
"But platonic talk, right?" Willow's eyes narrowed.  
  
"I don't hit on non-single guys! So yes. Platonic talk!" Buffy looked grumpy. "And can talking really be non-platonic? Doesn't there at least have to be an exchange of bodily fluids?"  
  
"How did our discussion end up covering bodily fluids?"  
  
Buffy giggled. "Come on, groupie girl." She got up and tugged on her friend's hand. "Time to work."  
  
The DJ was testing the lights and the sound, so short bursts of music and flashing light surrounded them as they entered the bigger room. When they walked up to the fourth floor, they spotted Spike at the bar, unpacking straws and those ridiculous little umbrellas. "Hi there girls!" he said as they got closer.  
  
"Have you recovered from the hangover?" Buffy leaned her forearms at the bar and raised a brow at Spike.  
  
"It's not like I drank that much anyway." Spike said, smiling.  
  
"Then I guess you're just naturally cheerful." She picked up an umbrella and twirled it between her fingers.  
  
"Well, that's me. The cheerful guy." Spike said, pulling the umbrella from Buffy's hand. "You two better get your asses back here, 'cause we're openin' in 20 minutes."  
  
Within an hour, the place was filled with people dressed in fancy clothes, wearing lip gloss, gold necklaces and expensive shoes. The bar where they were working was located on the top floor, which meant that it was possible to talk while working without having to shout.  
  
"So, how's it going?" Willow asked as she reached past Buffy to get a napkin. "Your first day and all."  
  
"If you've seen one bar, you have pretty much seen all of them." Buffy said as she put some ice in the shaker. "It's like weddings."  
  
"Um, Buffy," Spike whispered. "What's in a snowball? I've only been doin' this for six months. Keep forgettin' the ingredients."  
  
"Well, you're lucky. I'm practically a drink library. I never forget a recipe. It's a talent."  
  
Before Buffy could continue, Spike heard a loud, drunken voice behind him. "Hey you!" As he turned he stood face to face with a beefy, clearly drunk jock-looking guy, Spike vaguely recognized him as an acquaintance of one of his co-workers.  
  
"People like you make me sick!" the drunk man slurred.  
  
"I beg your pardon?!" Spike yelled.  
  
"Can't believe that they hire your kind." His voice became louder "Well, yeah, people like you should be put out of your misery. For everyone's sake. Shot like dogs!" He pointed his finger furiously at Spike.  
  
Spike felt his face go red from anger, and he took a deep breath to give the man a piece of his mind, but before he could reply he heard a furious voice from behind his back. "I don't know what the hell your problem is, but you better watch it!" Buffy's eyes were flashing with rage. She grabbed his collar, and pulled him against the bar. "Didn't you mother tell you that death threats aren't nice?!" The man was completely taken by surprise. When the shock started to change to anger, he clenched his fists, but froze when he spotted the guards that were heading his way. "This guy was threatening Spike. Throw him out, boys."  
  
Without a word, the man let himself be pulled away. If it weren't for the music, you would be able to hear the sound of crickets in the crowd.  
  
Spike was impressed. "Thanks, luv."  
  
"Well, assholes bring out combat!Buffy." She reached for a bottle filled with a yellow substance and handed it to him. "And it's Advocaat and Sprite."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Snowball. It's Advocaat and Sprite.  
  
Spike arched his brow at an anxious looking Willow and smiled a little as he got back to his chores. Buffy sure wasn't like most girls. And he liked it. He wondered if Buffy had understood what the man was talking about, but they all got back to work before the issue could come up. He quietly wondered if she would have been as furious if she had known.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Buffy sighed and closed her eyes as she had put away the last item and the bar was clean. "God, silence is really underestimated."  
  
"Definitely," Willow agreed.  
  
They all were silent for a moment. "God, I can't believe that guy!" Willow suddenly spat out.  
  
"Yeah, and I can't believe you." Spike grinned at Buffy.  
  
"Well, people shouldn't get away with stuff like that." She clenched her teeth. "It's a personal motto."  
  
"Well thanks, pet, for saving the damsel in distress."  
  
Buffy smiled. "If you want to thank me properly you could always buy me a burger or something. I'm starving."  
  
"Oh, so standin' up to bullies has a price now?"  
  
"Well, even Rosa Parks had to eat."  
  
"Ok, but no burgers. I'm gonna show you where you can buy the best food ever."  
  
"Whatever. As long as it's got calories. So, Willow?" Buffy said. "Want to come?"  
  
"Nope." Willow yawned. "I've left my bed alone for too long. Soon it will get frustrated and start to hump the other furniture."  
  
"Well in that case, see ya!" Buffy chimed.  
  
"Have fun with the calories!" Willow answered.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
They were standing on a somewhat shabby street a couple of blocks from the club. "Ok, here it is. The best food in the town," Spike said, pointing at a small stand on a street corner. Even though it was three in the morning, there were a few people in line. "Well, and also the only place that's open at this hour."  
  
Buffy looked doubtful. "And you're sure I'm not going to receive a free food poisoning with my meal?" she asked as they got in line.  
  
"No," Spike said, smiling. "They charge you extra for that."  
  
Soon it was their turn. "Two falafels, with that spicy sauce," Spike said. The vendor handed them a couple of huge portions wrapped in napkins.  
  
Buffy took a hesitant bite from the falafel, and her suspicious expression soon changed to a surprised grin. "You're right. This is great!" She started chomping away at the falafel.  
  
"Well," Spike said with his mouth full of food. "I told you so."  
  
They walked down the street, towards the water, and sat down at a bench to finish their meals. Buffy glanced over at Spike. She hesitated for a moment, then she spoke. "Listen... I know it's not by business or anything. Just curious... What was that guy talking about?"  
  
Spike tensed up for a moment. "I guess he doesn't like that I fuck blokes," he said and resumed the late dinner.  
  
Buffy was surprised. Not that she minded, she had just...assumed that Willow was talking about a girlfriend. Involuntary images suddenly popped up in the back of her mind, of a naked Spike, and another man, all tangled and sweaty and... Ok, no more Queer as Folk for Buffy.  
  
"Well, he's an idiot." Buffy said vehemently. "Whether you're gay or straight isn't anybody else's business."  
  
"Glad to hear that, luv. Not everybody agrees with that." Spike wiped some sauce from the corner of his mouth. "And technically I'm bi." Spike felt relieved. Usually he couldn't care less what other people thought. In fact, shocking bigots was kind of a hobby. But if Buffy had turned out to be one of them, he would have been disappointed.  
  
"Makes sense, I guess." Buffy looked thoughtful. "Kind of stupid to be all gender biased, I guess."  
  
"I don't think about it too much. It's just the way I am," Spike said. "Didn't really accept it before though. Angel is my first boyfriend."  
  
Buffy giggled. "Angel?"  
  
"I keep tellin' him, it sounds completely daft!" he said with amused animosity. "Actually it's his nickname. Ok, on second thought, I don't know if Liam is any better..." Spike's eyes lit up the moment he mentioned Angel. "We've been together for six months," he continued, smiling.  
  
"Good for you." Buffy sighed and threw the remains of her falafel in the trash. "Perhaps that's why it's totally impossible to find a guy in LA. They're dating each other."  
  
Spike chuckled.  
  
"Do these things happen often? I mean, people giving you shit for being bi?" she continued.  
  
"Not really. And those who do can just go and fuck themselves." Spike swallowed the last of his falafel and tossed the napkins in the trash can.  
  
"Good attitude," Buffy said.  
  
They sat quiet for a couple of minutes, enjoying the warm summer breeze and the beautiful night sky. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just peaceful. Buffy was the first to break the silence. "So, Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt?"  
  
"Definitely Brad," he stated with confidence. 


	4. Hiding in the Closet

"So, have you got an action plan yet?" Buffy asked and sipped from her glass of mineral water. She squinted a little against the bright sunlight that lit up the outdoor ice cream shop.  
  
Willow sighed and swallowed a spoonful of chocolate chip ice cream. "You won't give this up, will you?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"I'm terribly bad at hitting on guys; you know that." Willow squirmed. "I should get some kind of disability assistance. Some free Cyrano de Bergerac guy. Like picture phones for the blind, and guide dogs for the... um, blind"  
  
"You could hit on him, like, gradually," Buffy said cheerfully. "Ease him into a realization of your coolness. You could do some buddy stuff first."  
  
"Like what?" Willow looked skeptical.  
  
"Well, you could watch a movie or something," Buffy smiled. "Buddies do that all the time."  
  
"Well... maybe. Oh... you could be there too," Willow said happily. "That would definitely raise the casual factor."  
  
"Well, sure. Anything to help your love life," Buffy grinned. "So, what should we watch?"  
  
"He said he loved werewolf movies!"  
  
"Ookay... Not 'You've Got Mail', then." Buffy thought for a moment. "Underworld, maybe? It's got werewolves."  
  
"Well, ok." Willow looked nervous. "I'll call him. You're free tomorrow night, right?" Willow swallowed another spoonful of ice cream.  
  
"Yup," Buffy said, and looked longingly at the frozen dessert.  
  
"You want some?" Willow scooped up some more ice cream and reached out the spoon. "That mineral water doesn't look so yummy."  
  
"Nope. No ice cream for Buffy." She shook her head. "Need to get into the right weight class for the competition next week. And ice cream isn't a part of the boxer's diet."  
  
Buffy had been training in boxing since she was twelve. At first it was all about a boy. The neighbor's kid had been going to boxing practice once a week, and Buffy had been hanging about in the boxing club after school as often as she could, ogling him. One day the trainer had gotten tired of her constant company and had handed her a couple of gloves, telling her that only people who trained were allowed on the premises. The result, however, was a different one than he had anticipated. She had loved it since the first time her tiny glove-covered fists had hit the sandbag.  
  
It took her parents almost half a year to find out what she was doing when they thought she was taking swimming lessons. Hank had been furious. Boxing was no sport for a girl, especially not a Summers girl. Luckily, Joyce had understood how much it mattered to her daughter and had decided to overcome her distaste for a sport that meant punching one another as hard as possible. And since Joyce had been her primary caretaker after the unpleasant divorce, Hank had to cave in.  
  
"Ooh... I hope that you win this time!" Willow said. "You've been training a lot since the last championship."  
  
"That was what I'm planning on," Buffy said, sipping from her water. "I'm so gonna kick their asses." Buffy gritted her teeth when she thought about the bitch who had beat her during the competition in San Francisco three month ago. After two tough rounds of sweat and raging adrenaline, Buffy was knocked out. She vaguely remembered the judge holding up the other woman's arm and announcing her the winner. Then she bent over Buffy with a condescending smile. "You're such a fucking loser, B," she whispered. "I'll look forward to beating you again."  
  
Yeah, Buffy thought to herself. She definitely had some ass kicking to deliver.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"As this picture shows, the success rate of our cases is up 12% compared to last year." The reflection from the projected pie chart colored Angels face in several unnatural shades. He clicked on a button and the picture changed to a series of numbers and abbreviations. "As you can see, this has significantly affected our income."  
  
The small audience in the conference room was listening closely to Angel's presentation. As always, a number of jealous glances followed his every move. He walked confidently behind the podium, a self-assured smile playing on his lips. Angel was the type of person who could sell freezers to Eskimos and convince nuns to pose for Playboy. He was the lawyer that the men wanted to be and the women wanted to fuck. Everything he touched turned to gold. Or at least to substantial numbers of dollars.  
  
Not that any one of his co-workers actually knew anything about him. He never joined them for drinks after work and he never talked about his private life. Angel was the untouchable success story. And he loved it.  
  
He casually put a hand in his pocket. "Our client-related income is up 15%..." For a split second Angel froze. Outside the conference room, on the other side of the glass wall, he saw Spike. He was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed and an amused grin on his lips. Angel clenched his teeth and then quickly resumed his presentation before anybody noticed the pause. "Which means a financial improvement of around 3 million dollars." Angel looked out over the other lawyers at the table. "Any questions?" He waited for a brief moment. "Well, in that case, we're off for the day."  
  
As chatter gradually filled the room, he turned off the overhead and threw one more look out the window. Spike was still outside, watching him. Angel threw him a cold glare and started gathering his papers.  
  
"Wow, you look like such an adult when you're workin'," Spike said as Angel exited the conference room. "Have you got one of those laser pointers? I love those." Angel didn't answer; he just passed Spike, looking straight ahead. Spike followed, knowing all too well that that look didn't bode well. "Um... so what do you wanna eat?" Spike said tentatively.  
  
"Italian," Angel answered shortly.  
  
In silence, they walked down to the garage. The car ride was tense. Spike knew that he had been a bad boy since he had obviously managed to get Angel into one of his moods.  
  
It wasn't until they had gotten to the restaurant and had ordered that Angel finally spoke up. He leaned over the table, glaring at Spike. "What the hell were you thinking?!" he asked in aggravated whispers.  
  
"Well, we had a dinner date." Spike was irritated. "And I wanted to see you in your natural habitat. Is that such a crime?"  
  
"Jesus, Spike," Angel continued in an even sharper tone. "What if they find out!"  
  
"They won't. They'll just think I'm your pal." Spike crossed his arms. "And besides, what if they do? What are they gonna do? Fire you?"  
  
"No, they wouldn't, but you don't get it," Angel said, waving a threatening finger in Spike's face. "It's not like at your job. The people at Wolfram & Hart wouldn't understand. I'll be persona non grata in no time."  
  
Spike was quiet for a moment. "You know, I'm kind of tired of bein' your dirty little secret."  
  
"And that gives you the right to risk screwing up my life?" Angel's eyes were blazing. "God, you can be such a fucking idiot sometimes!"  
  
Spike twitched. "Hey!"  
  
"Yeah, sometimes you're such an incompetent child!" Angel punctuated the last word by slapping the table. "No sense of responsibility. You couldn't take a direction if it hit you in the head!"  
  
"You're such a drama queen, Angel!" Spike said defensively.  
  
"Oh, am I? At least I'm not a stupid, mindless bartender!" Their voices were no longer whispers.  
  
In that time the waiter had walked up to their table and was now looking down at them with an expression of strained professionalism. "Enjoy your dinners," he said as he placed the plates in front of the bickering men and left with his nose in the air.  
  
They finished their meal in silence. Angel was eating with a stern expression and refused to look up, even for a second, to meet Spike's eyes. Spike, on the other hand, was throwing occasional glances at Angel. There was hurt in Spike's eyes. His jaws twitched as he tried to convert it to anger but he couldn't really pull it off. It was still there, simmering in his gut, and it wouldn't leave him alone. He was looking closely at Angel, wanting to understand why he could be such an asshole sometimes. But the epiphanies were illusive.  
  
Angel was something of a mystery to Spike. And, yes, that was a part of what he liked about him, his intriguing personality, hidden in the shadows. He wished that Angel would open up to him, that he would share those sides with him as well. But, of course, Angel would never do anything to leave himself vulnerable and exposed. Not even to his lover. Or maybe, especially not to his lover.  
  
Often Spike felt that he wasn't good enough to fit into Angel's world. He had a lame job (not that Angel hadn't told him to quit since he could support them both), he wore cheap clothes (not that Angel hadn't bought suits for him and futilely tried to make him wear them), and he was living in a small, non-classy apartment (not that Angel hadn't offered to pay for a better one). He knew nothing about classic literature and refused to go to the opera. He drank beer, not martinis.  
  
Of course, Angel would never actually let Spike into the world that he lived in when they weren't shagging like rabbits in Spike's apartment. What would the neighbors/parents/co-workers/upper-class friends say? Spike wasn't so sure that Angel wouldn't cave into that world one day and dump him in favor of a nice picket-fenced house and a trophy wife he could show off to all his family-man business acquaintances. Not that Angel had a heterosexual bone in his body, but such details wouldn't be important if they came in the way of his goals.  
  
Spike sighed and looked down at the pink meat on his plate. He wasn't really feeling hungry anymore.  
  
"Hey, Spike." Angel's voice was soft. As Spike raised his head an apologetic face met him. This was Angel in a nutshell. There was never much distance between hot and cold. "I know that I was a bit harsh. I'm sorry." After quickly scanning the restaurant, he took Spike's hand. "You know I say a lot of things that I don't mean when I'm upset."  
  
"Well, don't say them, then," Spike said with an angry voice.  
  
"I could follow you home and make it up to you," Angel smiled.  
  
"Dou you think that sex will make everything all right?" Spike asked, yanking away his hand.  
  
Who the hell was he kidding? Of course it would.  
  
Twenty minutes later they were standing in Spike's entryway. They were struggling to remove their jackets while kissing, and Spike managed to push the door shut with his foot before they stumbled into the bedroom. For several minutes they remained tangled in the middle of the room, kissing passionately. Spike could still taste rosemary on Angel's tongue. The smell of fancy cologne tickled his nose. It made him feel high, almost dizzy. Angel flooded his senses, took him over. It was like a drug. Angel wasn't the perfect man, but Spike couldn't be without him.  
  
"I love you," Angel gasped against Spike's lips.  
  
Spike's heart skipped in his chest and warmth quickly spread through his body. "I love you too," he said as he pulled Angel closer. "So much." Spike's hand tugged at Angel's shirt and slid under the thin material. Spike enjoyed the feeling of the muscles that were moving slightly under his fingertips. His hands played over the subtle ridges on the abdomen, feeling a rush of arousal when he felt Angel responding to his touch. Spike's lips left Angel's mouth and traveled down his neck. He closed his eyes. "You're everything to me," Spike whispered against the soft skin. He hadn't meant to sound needy but he couldn't help it.  
  
Spike trailed one hands over Angel's broad back, loosening his tie with the other. Angel's hands joined him at the knot, untying it with proficient hands; then he bent down to capture Spike's lips again. Their tongues played around each other at a leisurely pace. Angel's hands trailed over Spike's flushing body, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. Spike pulled away for a moment, lifting his arms to allow Angel to remove his sweater. His hand continued to the belt buckle and Spike's pants soon fell in a pile at the floor.  
  
Angel took a step back and watched Spike's naked figure, painted pale blue by the moonlight. "You're beautiful," he said as his eyes raked over the sculpted body in front of him. Angel reached out and let his fingertips play lightly over Spike's skin. Spike responded by closing his eyes.  
  
With the other hand, Angel unbuttoned his shirt, letting it flutter to the floor. As he leaned in and placed small kisses on Spike's chest he freed himself of his pants and underwear. The moment Angel was naked he closed the distance between them. Spike gasped when their hard cocks rubbed together. "Nobody makes me feel like you do," Angel said before he reached out his tongue and started licking irregular patterns on Spike's torso.  
  
Spike was in heaven. It usually wasn't like this. Usually Angel fucked him, touched him in rapture and burning lust. It wasn't like Spike was complaining, but many times he craved more. Wanted intimacy, not just body and sweat.  
  
Angel's hand started trailing Spike's hipbone and continued to softly caress his inner thigh. His fingertips played over Spike's sac and brushed over the area near his ass where it met his body. He moved his hand back and trailed a finger up the length of Spike's cock before encircling it with his fingers. He stroked it with agonizing slowness, matching the pace of his tongue against Spike's skin. His thumb grazed the ridge of the smooth head and Spike gasped.  
  
They started moving in the direction of the bed and soon Spike felt himself being lowered into the tangled nest of bedding. As he looked down he moaned by the sight of Angel sticking out his tongue to lick a wet trail along the length of his cock. "Angel!" he breathed as their eyes met. Without breaking the eye contact, Angel crawled up over Spike's body and reached for the lube in the bedside table. Hovering over him while reaching out his arm, he leaned down for a short kiss, their lips brushing softly against each other. Spike felt boneless. Every nerve in his body was tingling with the entrancing touches of skin sliding against skin.  
  
Angel nudged at Spike's legs, carefully pushing them up in the air. As Spike felt Angel's slick cock nudging at his entrance he gasped. He reached out, desperately touching every inch of Angel's skin that he could find. Angel replied by pushing all the way in with one swift move; both of them moaned loudly. Spike's fingers bored themselves into Angel's back from the sudden sensation. For a moment they stayed like that, relishing in the feeling of being joined. They were breathing heavily, their hands clinging to flushed skin, glistening with a thin coating of sweat.  
  
Spike looked into Angel's eyes, feeling shivers down his spine from the feverish gaze that met him. To his surprise, Angel reached out and pulled an unruly lock of bleached hair that had fallen out of the hold of the hair gel. Spike watched, entranced, as Angel moved in to capture Spike's lips, leaning Spike's legs against his shoulders. As he slowly started moving, Spike moaned into Angel's mouth and kissed him with growing intensity. With every stroke Spike's body writhed and he pushed back, trying to bury Angel's member even deeper into him. Wanting more of all those feelings that rushed through his body. Wanting more of Angel.  
  
Angel continued his slow thrusts, their tongues playing, their bodies gliding together, damp limbs tangled, loud gasps slipping out between swollen lips. As Angel felt himself getting close, he pulled away from the kiss and grasped the hard cock that was bobbing between them. He stroked it firmly as he sped up his trusts. Within moments, Spike arched his body and shouted as he spilled a stream of semen over Angel's hand. Not long after, Angel howled and came hard, filling Spike's ass with the same milky fluid. They soon fell into a sticky heap, somehow managing not to crush any limbs in the process.  
  
For a moment they just lay there, their breaths echoing through the dark room. Then Angel snaked an arm over Spike's waist and placed a soft kiss on his chest. "Nobody will ever love you like I do," he whispered. "Nobody. Remember that."  
  
"I will," Spike breathed.  
  
After a few minutes Spike suddenly grunted and got up to scramble through the pockets of his pants. "Dammit!" he said as he read "3 missed calls" on the display of his cell phone, currently set to vibrate. "I was supposed to hang out with Xander tonight."  
  
"Can't you 'hang out' with Xander some other time?" Angel grunted. "We don't spend enough time together." Spike glanced at Angel, who was looking at him with big, pleading eyes. "I love you, baby. I need you," he said as he reached out his hand. "Come back to bed."  
  
Spike's hesitation melted away as he looked at Angel's pleading face. "Ok," he said as he pushed the digits on the cell phone.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
It was past midnight, but Spike was still awake. He was tired, but he didn't want to go to sleep just yet. Angel was lying next to him, tangled in the sheets. He had curled up on his side, almost in a fetal position, looking peaceful and relaxed. Spike loved watching him like this, and he wished that Angel would stay the night more often. Usually he dashed away, getting back to his own apartment, sleeping between his silk sheets in his big, expensive bed. Not that he had seen it that many times. Angel always came to Spike's place. It was just the way it was.  
  
Spike studied Angel's face. In his serene condition there was nothing harsh resting beneath the surface. Nothing but warmth and softness. Spike reached out and touched Angel's cheek lightly. He loved him so much that it ached. Sometimes he felt like he was consumed. That his love was bordering on something dark and deep. But he wanted it desperately. Needed it.  
  
He carefully moved closer and lifted Angel's arm to get next to his body. Angel mumbled in his sleep, and snaked his arm around Spike's waist. Spike sighed and closed his eyes. He snuggled against Angel's chest and inhaled his scent. He felt warmth spreading inside of him.  
  
The harsh words from the restaurant were already long forgotten.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Many years earlier  
  
William fumbled with his books while he struggled to open his locker. Unruly locks of hair fell into his eyes as he yanked on the stubborn door. He felt annoyed and tired. He didn't have the energy for this. He wished that something could work out right for him. That fate would smile at him just a little. But even his locker was against him.  
  
He felt his face turning a light red color from the effort. Suddenly the door snapped open and he stumbled back, dropping his books in a heap on the floor. As if on cue, several people who were passing by laughed and cynical applause echoed between the rows of lockers. William stared at the books, trying not to listen to the taunting voices. He felt like crying, but he had done enough of that the last month, and he wouldn't give his schoolmates the pleasure of seeing him turn on the water works. It felt like a big effort to reach down and pick up his books. He just wanted to go home and hide in his bed underneath the covers.  
  
Suddenly a hand slapped him on the back of the head and his glasses jumped askew. "Nice work, English boy," someone said.  
  
Mark Chapman, William thought as he turned and pushed his glasses back up. Of course.  
  
The beefy, tall guy smiled down at him condescendingly. "Having a clumsy streak, huh?"  
  
William didn't answer; he just reached down to pick up his books. Suddenly, Mark kicked at the pile and a couple of the books tumbled across the floor. "Oops," he said.  
  
A girl walked up behind Mark and tugged on his arm. "Come on, leave him alone. We've got history class in five minutes." William sighed. How come those assholes always had lots of girls swarming around them? And how come nobody ever looked twice at him? He knew that he wasn't exactly god's gift to women, but maybe someone could like him just a little if they looked away from the popular assholes for a moment. Then again: not exactly god's gift to women...  
  
Mark grinned at William as he started walking away. "I'll se you later, geek."  
  
William sighed and gathered the books. As he threw them into the locker and closed the door, he felt Xander's hand on his shoulder. "How's it going, buddy?"  
  
William didn't say anything; he just turned and fell back against the locker with a thump.  
  
"That bad, huh?" Xander looked sympathetic.  
  
"Went to dad's grave again this mornin'." William stared down at the floor. "It still looked like they had dug it yesterday."  
  
"I'm sorry," Xander said.  
  
"I just had a run in with Mark Chapman." William put his hands in his pockets. "And it doesn't help that we've got gym class in an hour. Dodge ball nonetheless."  
  
"Oh, I'm double sorry," Xander said with an emphatic grimace. "But I've got something that might cheer you up a little. Come on!" He tugged at William's sleeve. They walked to the gym locker room and sat down in a secluded area. Xander pulled a couple of magazines out of his backpack. William blushed as he noticed that they were adult magazines.  
  
"I got them from my cousin. He's got a big stack in his wardrobe." Xander opened one of them, and a picture of a naked, big-chested lady fell out from the centerfold. Both boys gaped. Neither of them had, with the exception of their mothers, ever actually seen a naked girl in real life and rarely even in pictures.  
  
"Wow," Xander said.  
  
"Wow," William echoed, feeling another blush creeping across his face.  
  
They stared in silence for a moment. "She's hot," Xander said.  
  
William wouldn't know what to compare with, but his lower regions definitely agreed. "Yeah..." he said.  
  
Xander tucked the fold-out back into the magazine and turned the page. A blond woman, her legs spread wide, was looking seductively at them.  
  
Suddenly, William heard the sound of voices and peeked out around the wall they were sitting behind. His eyes quickly locked on one of the guys who entered the locker room. Johnny Silverman. He never used to change when William did, but now they were an hour early.  
  
Johnny was the baseball player who had helped their high school to more victories than William could count. William had gotten in the habit of sitting in on their games. For the sport, of course. William loved baseball. Ok, maybe he didn't exactly know any of the rules, or watch any games that didn't include their school team. He also hadn't been in the crowd once for the two months Johnny was recovering from his injury. But he wasn't going to consider any ulterior motives.  
  
William watched closely as Johnny pulled off his baseball jersey. Beads of sweat covered his tanned skin and pronounced muscles were playing underneath. For some reason William couldn't make himself look away. As Johnny shook his sweat-soaked hair and reached for the waistband of his pants, William gulped.  
  
"Hey, stop staring," Xander whispered, jolting William out of his embarrassing thoughts. "You don't want people think you're a faggot, do you?"  
  
"Um... no! I was just. Just... Oh, she's really hot," William said quickly and pointed at a tall redhead in the magazine..  
  
Xander started making comments but William zoned out almost immediately. While seemingly looking at the magazine he leaned forward so that he had a view of the shower out of the corner of his eye. With rising pulse, he noticed that Johnny now was naked and standing in the shower. He reached for the soap and let lathered hands slide over his bare skin. William felt a heat rising inside of him. As Johnny's hands reached down to wash his flaccid member, William's breath hitched in his throat.  
  
"I... I have to get something in my locker," William said, trying not to stutter.  
  
"Hmhm... " Xander mumbled, not looking up from the glossy pages.  
  
Five minutes later William stood in a booth in the boy's bathroom, staring down at the semen swimming in the toilet in front of him. He zipped up his pants with shaking hands. Had he just done... that, thinking of another guy? He liked girls, he knew that he did. Not to mention, he had really liked those pictures in Xander's magazine.  
  
William closed his eyes, and felt Xander's words of warning echo through his head. And what would his mother say if she knew? He clenched his teeth. Nope, he would never think those thoughts again.  
  
As he exited the stall he froze as he saw Mark Chapman throwing the bathroom door open, entering with a small posse. "Well, well, what have we here?" he said, striking a cocky pose as he spotted William. "Isn't it the English geek again?" Mark walked up to him and snapped him on the nose with his finger. "Did the peeing go well? After all, you seem to have a problem holding on to your things?"  
  
"I... I..." William stuttered.  
  
"Heard that your loser librarian dad died, by the way," Mark said, smirking. "Must have felt like he really had accomplished something in his life, huh? Sorting books at the high school library for years and years. Yeah, doesn't get any lamer than that."  
  
William suddenly felt something rising inside of him. Something that emanated from a part of him that he never had acknowledged, something big, dark, and engulfing. Within seconds he had pinned Mark against the wall, burning with fury. "Don't. Trash. My. Dad," he hissed through clenched teeth, his face only inches from Mark's.  
  
William saw fear in Mark's eyes. That was a look he usually sported, not caused. He felt a rush of power. In that one moment, William was the one in charge. He felt strong and he liked it.  
  
It took Mark's friend a few moments to grasp the situation and come to his rescue. As they pulled William away, he glared at Mark, and shook them off, heading for the door.  
  
"I'll tell everyone at this school what a fucking looser you are!" Mark shouted after him. "You'll be an outcast when I'm done with you!"  
  
"I don't care!" William hollered as he pushed the door open with more force than was necessary. "Fuck you!"  
  
As William headed out of the school, the feelings finally hit him in the gut like a wrecking ball. The grief he had been holding back flooded his mind, mingling with the realization that Mark most definitely would stick to his promise to make his existence at their high school even harder than it already was. And with a wave of nausea, he recalled what he had been doing in the bathroom before Mark came. God, what was wrong with him?  
  
William was fighting his tears. He felt like he was in a dark daze. Like he was bleeding on the inside. Bugger this, he thought. Bugger crying. Bugger his troubling feelings. Bugger his non-existent reputation. Bugger everything. He walked for what seemed like an eternity, heading nowhere. He felt like everything around him was empty and pale. Like he was walking in a ghost town.  
  
Suddenly, a drop of rain hit his forehead. Within seconds it was pouring. William stopped, and for a while he just stood there, letting the hard rain wash over him. But as his cold clothes started feeling increasingly uncomfortable and he started to shiver, he unenthusiastically began looking around for shelter. A bit down the street he spotted a convenience store and started walking its way.  
  
As William passed through the aisles, he felt misplaced among all the colorful products shouting out their promises of a cleaner, yummier, or healthier life. Actually, he felt altogether misplaced. Everything was wrong. He was wrong.  
  
Suddenly his eyes fell on a box on one of the shelves. He picked it up and looked at it. Then he headed for the register.  
  
An hour later, William was standing by the sink in a public restroom, staring with a motionless expression at himself in the mirror. The wet, bleached hair looked almost fluorescent. He narrowed his eyes. No more crying.  
  
As he entered his home it was almost half past two. He had walked through half the town, then hung around in a late-night café, sipping on coffee after coffee until they closed. As he felt himself buzzing on the inside, more than could be expected from his emotional state, he swore to stick to sodas in the future. The non-caffeinated types.  
  
He tried his best not to make any noise as he walked through the dark entryway, but soon the light in his mother's bedroom came on and she dashed out. "William! Where have you been?! " Jenny was looking at him with a distressed expression. "How dare you make me worried, after Rupert..." She choked on her tears. "And..." She suddenly noticed William 's bleached hair through the darkness in the entryway. "And what have you done to your hair?!" She walked up to him, and touched his hair. "It's... all white!"  
  
"Stop it, mum!" William hollered, yanking his head away from her touch. "I'm not a bloody child anymore! I'm goin' wherever I want and I'll do whatever I want with my own damn hair!"  
  
"William! What's wrong with you?" Jenny asked, sobbing.  
  
"Nothin'!" He stalked up the stairs with determined steps.  
  
"We only have each other now, William!" Jenny shouted after him.  
  
"Well, that not much, now is it?!" he said as he slammed the door shut and locked it behind him.  
  
William fell back on the bed, limp like a straw-filled scarecrow. As he stared up at the ceiling he felt the painful knots of distress and confusion once more tightening in his stomach. He closed his eyes and swallowed the pain.  
  
Fuck everything. 


	5. Loved Ones and Other Things That Suck

"So, then he said 'people like you should be shot!'" Spike said. "Can't believe that people still give a damn!"  
  
Angel chewed on some pieces of fiber-enriched bread he had found in the back of Spike's cupboard, most likely bought by mistake, probably while drunk. "You shouldn't eat stuff like that," he said. "It's not good for you."  
  
"Don't worry, I won't get chubby," Spike said while futilely trying to wipe away the maple syrup that had gotten all over his hands and face. "I've got a killer metabolism. It's my superpower."  
  
"I meant that it's not healthy," Angel answered, looking at Spike's plate with distaste as Spike added more syrup to the sticky pancake. He folded it to a bundle and squeezed it into his mouth.  
  
"So, ayay. E os: 'hot ik ogs!'" he mumbled with his mouth full of food.  
  
"Swallow, Spike."  
  
Spike chewed for a moment before he finally managed to swallow the big chunk of pancake. "So he said: 'shot like dogs!'"  
  
Angel rolled his eyes. "I hope you taught him a lesson."  
  
"Actually, Buffy beat me to it. She went Xena on his ass." As Angel raised an eyebrow Spike knew that he shouldn't have mentioned her.  
  
"Buffy?" Angel leaned closer.  
  
"Just a new co-worker," Spike said quietly, looking down at his food.  
  
"Seems like she cares enough to come to your rescue."  
  
"Give it up, Angel. I can't spend all my life avoiding girls just to make you happy." Spike poked at his food with the fork. "Or, technically, I should avoid people, I guess," he mumbled.  
  
"Is she beautiful?" Angel asked, lifting Spike's chin with his finger. "Is she nice?"  
  
"Um... I don't..."  
  
"Do you want to fuck her?" Angel stared him straight in the eyes. "Do you miss getting some pussy, huh?"  
  
"No, Angel! I love you... why would I...?"  
  
Angel looked at him in silence for a moment. "Don't know. Just have to know I can trust you if you're going to be my boyfriend."  
  
"You can trust me!" Spike leaned forward and pressed his lips against Angel's. As they broke apart he looked at Angel desperately. "Please, don't think those things!"  
  
Angel's face softened. "I just love you so much." He caressed Spike's cheek. "Don't want to lose you."  
  
"You won't." Spike leaned his forehead against Angel's and closed his eyes. "You won't," he whispered.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Many years earlier  
  
"Loved Bauhaus last night." The black-haired, shabby guy blew out a small cloud of smoke.  
  
"Sure, but if they hadn't been so stoned they might have remembered the lyrics," a blasé looking girl answered. She was pale with dark makeup around her eyes, making her almost panda-like. A strange dark dress and spiked hair with bright blue streaks completed her outsider look.  
  
"Yeah," Spike said, grinning. He pulled her close with the hand that wasn't holding his cigarette. "But then again, Amber, we didn't really pay much attention to the music, so I guess it didn't matter." He kissed her intensely for a while, then pulled away and took a drag on his cigarette. Amber took what was left of it and slowly inhaling the soothing dose of nicotine.  
  
"Too bad this is just a regular smoke. I could use some better stuff," she said toneless as she put out the stub with the sole of her boot.  
  
"Come on, luv. You don't need that stuff." Spike said with a seductive voice. "You've got me." He kissed her again, tangling his fingers in her hair.  
  
The three of them were standing in a dusty corner outside the back entrance to the gymnasium. This was where they went on their breaks, usually to avoid the teachers' eyes while getting a smoke, but often just to hang out. Small piles of dead leaves and trash were lying around their feet but nevertheless this was their spot, their little home on the school grounds.  
  
Like every school, the property was strictly segregated. Not in the barbed wire way, of course, but as most teenagers know, social borders can be just as effective. The popular kids gathered at the benches outside the cafeteria, the brainy types in the library, the geeky ones around the fountain. And the weird and scary ones outside the back entrance of the gymnasium. This was never questioned; it was just the way it was.  
  
"I'm going now. Got math class," the other guy said. "And, get a room or something," he continued, looking over at Amber and Spike.  
  
"Whatever. See ya, Kyle," Spike murmured against Amber's mouth as Kyle headed towards the main building, leaving them alone.  
  
As they pulled apart, Amber reached out her hand to pull some strands of hair from her eyes. As she did so, her sleeve slid down, exposing parts of her arm. Spike inhaled sharply. "No, Amber!" he said and grabbed her arm, staring down at the partly healed cuts on the pale skin. "You said you weren't doin' that anymore!"  
  
"Well, I wasn't..." She ducked her head. "But everything's just so bad right now." Her eyes started tearing up. "It just feels good to do it."  
  
"Feels good?" There was distress in Spike's eyes. "How can it feel good to cut up your own bloody arms?!" He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "Is it your dad again?" he asked quietly as he caressed her hair.  
  
"Yeah," she said, burrowing her face against his chest. "He keeps shouting at me. Tells me I'm a crazy slut, that I should be locked up."  
  
"Jesus," Spike mumbled. "You should talk to someone. Like a teacher or somethin'. Tell them what's goin' on."  
  
"No!" She pulled away quickly. "And you can't tell anyone, ok? It would only make it worse."  
  
"Oh, look, the freak is sad," someone shouted while passing by.  
  
"Fuck you!" Spike shouted back without turning around.  
  
"Just ignore them, ok?" he said, wiping her tears away. "They're all idiots."  
  
"Yeah," she sighed.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike spotted Xander heading their way. He looked a bit nervous, like he always did when he was hanging with Spike and someone from the goth crowd was around.  
  
"Um... hi," Xander said, putting his hands in his pockets.  
  
"Hi, mate," Spike said. "How's it goin'?" Spike tried to sound cheerful. Behind him, Amber mirrored Xander's gesture and put her hands in her pockets, looking a bit lost.  
  
"Fine and dandy," he said. "Just wondering, have you finished reading my history notes from last week?"  
  
"Sure, Xan. Wait a sec." Spike dove into his scruffy backpack, digging around.  
  
While Spike was looking for the notes an uncomfortable silence descended between Xander and Amber. "So... nice necklace," he said, pointing at the fork-like piece of jewelry that was hanging around her neck.  
  
"Yeah." She said quietly. "It's the death rune."  
  
"Oh... great," Xander said, squirming a little. Then they were quiet again.  
  
"Eh... nice... space ship," Amber said, looking at Xander's t-shirt.  
  
"It's a Bird of Prey. A Klingon ship." Silence.  
  
"It's... it's got a cloaking device," he stuttered.  
  
"Um... ok." More squirming.  
  
To their relief, Spike finally pulled out a few crumpled pages. "Aha!" He straightened the papers against his thigh. "They got a bit wrinkly. And..." He licked on his thumb and wiped on a dark spot. "A bit of soy sauce. I think." He squinted. "I hope."  
  
Xander took the pages. "Well, I guess reading it in its original state wasn't really challenging."  
  
"Sorry..."  
  
"Never mind," Xander sighed. "Time to go, Will... um... Spike. We have to get to class."  
  
"Yeah, right." He turned to Amber. "You're gonna be ok? Not gonna do anythin' stupid, right?" he said, caressing her cheek.  
  
"I guess," she said quietly.  
  
"I'll call you tonight." Spike gave her a quick kiss. "Love you," he whispered.  
  
As he and Xander walked through the hall on their way to home economics, Spike noticed a few pairs of eyes following them. Or rather, following him. Teenagers' memories were sometimes ridiculously long, but other times they were flashes in the proverbial pan. Nowadays a lot of people seemed to think he was pretty damn cool. There were even a few kids who seemed to be afraid of him, even though he never had done anything more sinister in his life than skipping English class a few times. Others thought he was an annoying slob, but he didn't really mind. Either way, people knew who he was. To his surprise, he had heard that there were a couple of girls who had his name written in ornate letters in their notebooks.  
  
The whole thing felt weird. Good but weird. At the end of the day, if people wanted to see him as a bad boy, he wasn't going to tell them any different.  
  
As they continued down the hall, Xander's eyes darted to Spike. He hesitated for a minute. "So, Spike," Xander said, speeding up to keep up with Spike's pace. "How's it going with Amber?"  
  
"Great." Spike nodded to a passing acquaintance.  
  
"I was just thinking... Since she made out with that guy at Sarah's party."  
  
"She made a mistake, ok?" The muscles in Spike's jaws twitched. "She's really sorry, so don't bring that up again." They proceeded up the stairs to the second floor in silence.  
  
Xander took a deep breath. "I just... Don't get mad, Will... It's just... " Spike stopped in the middle of the stairs and glared at Xander.  
  
"I..." Xander gulped. "It just seems like she's not really serious about you. There are these rumors about her and other guys. And it's like she only wants you around when she's miserable and needs a shoulder to cry on."  
  
"She loves me!" Spike said, pointing a finger at Xander. "And yeah! She sure needs a shoulder to cry on if you haven't noticed!" People around them started watching their discussion, and they heard scattered whispers.  
  
Spike turned sharply, and headed down the stairs with quick steps, coat fluttering behind him like a big slaughtered bat.  
  
"I just don't want you to get hurt!"  
  
"Fuck off, Xander!" he shouted, catching the hurt expression on Xander's face before he turned the corner.  
  
Xander sighed and slapped his forehead, not caring about the small audience that still was watching him. "Stupid mouth," he mumbled. "Mental note: keep it closed at all times."  
  
Two hours later, Spike was standing behind the gymnasium, now smoking his fourth cigarette. He let his head fall back against the brick wall and closed his eyes. He had told his best friend to fuck off! The memory set off a dull ache in Spike's chest.  
  
As he heard the scattered voices of people leaving their last classes, he peered around the corner, trying to spot Xander, but without success. He put out his cigarette and rubbed his face with his hand. With a sigh he headed back to the school to get his books.  
  
As he walked through the empty corridors, he suddenly heard a familiar sound. He stopped and listened. His body slowly tensed up as he walked towards the nearby supply closet. When he opened the door, he stopped abruptly. It was just like one of those Matrix-esque slow motion scenes where something really dramatic is happening but everything appears almost frozen in time.  
  
"A... Amber?"  
  
Kyle stopped pounding into Amber, and stared at Spike's pale figure in the doorway. Amber slid her legs down from Kyle's waist and straightened her dress. "Um... sorry?" she said without enthusiasm.  
  
Kyle zipped up his pants and held up his hand as he passed Spike on his way out. "Whatever."  
  
"You just...?" Spike felt like someone had pulled out his gut through his navel. "You slept with him...!" He barely stopped his lip from trembling.  
  
"Well, yeah." Her eyes studied a stack of paper towels.  
  
"But... but I thought..." He stared closely at her, almost like he was expecting to discover the whole scene had been an elaborate mirage.  
  
"Sorry." She studied her nails, and picked at the flakes of purple nail polish. "I just got bored, you know."  
  
"I..." He grabbed her hand, holding it firmly. "I forgive you. We'll deal, just..."  
  
"No, Spike." She pulled away her hand from his tight grip.  
  
He stared at her in disbelief. "But Amber, I love you!" he said, gripping her shoulders. He felt like there was no oxygen in the small room, like he was slowly suffocating to death.  
  
"You don't have to get all dramatic on me. It was fun but, you know..." She squirmed away from his grip and exited the supply room.  
  
"Please, I love you!" he hollered after her.  
  
"See ya, Spike," she said without turning around.  
  
Xander was staring blankly at his sandwich when the doorbell rang. He stiffened and looked to the door before he reluctantly got up and opened it.  
  
Outside stood Spike. His face was flushed and wet with tears. His bright blue eyes mirrored a hurt that Xander never had seen in his friend before. Several strands were sticking up from the gelled down hair, like it did when Spike had pulled his fingers through if without minding his precious hairdo.  
  
"Spike?!"  
  
"I'm... I'm really sorry," Spike sobbed. "I'm such a jerk!" He stared at Xander, begging silently for Xander not to hate him.  
  
Xander, not really the world champion of emotional stuff, stared back, mouth agape.  
  
"You were right!" The feelings welled up within seconds, turning Spike's small sobs into full-fledged crying. He closed his eyes tightly and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "She doesn't want me! And she fucked Kyle!"  
  
Xander blinked. "God!" he managed to say. "Come in! Sit down, so you won't... fall over or something."  
  
Spike slumped down in the sofa, hiding his face in his hands. His entire body was shaking. Xander sat down next to Spike, and looked at him with both compassion and fading anger. Not knowing what to say, he hesitantly put his hand on Spike's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"So, any new competitions?" Dawn asked.  
  
"I have one in a few days."  
  
"Cool!"  
  
Ever since Buffy had picked Dawn up at Joyce's she had been talking non- stop. Buffy was tired and annoyed.  
  
"Can't believe you get to beat people up, like, legally."  
  
"Well..." Buffy squinted against the afternoon sunlight, wishing that she had remembered to bring her sunglasses.  
  
"What's it like to be knocked out?" She looked at Buffy with a big smile. "Oh! Do you see stars? Or birds, like they do in cartoons!"  
  
"Dawn, for your own safety: you know that anvils aren't good for you, right? And that if you run off cliffs, hilarious air-jogging will not ensue?"  
  
"But you can draw doors in mountainsides, right?" Dawn asked, grinning.  
  
Buffy sighed.  
  
As she noticed that they were almost at their destination she started getting tense. They turned down a smaller road and turned left, and she was soon looking out over the big, beautiful houses on her father's block. As they drove down the street she could feel the observing eyes of the neighbors who were outdoors, cutting the grass, barbequing, playing with their 2.5 kids, and doing other stuff that respectable people did in their lawns on late afternoons. They stopped outside an impressive white house with a neatly landscaped garden. As they stepped out of the car they looked at each other.  
  
Hank had called Buffy out of the blue that morning, awakening her from her peaceful slumber to ask her over for dinner. And, of course, one problem with drowsiness is that you don't always have the presence of mind to make excuses.  
  
"Come in, come in!" Hank urged with a tense enthusiasm as he opened the door. "I'll take those," he said, grabbing their shed jackets. "You can go to the dining room; the food is ready." Buffy and Dawn couldn't help noticing the vague but distinct smell of alcohol coming from their father.  
  
They passed a roomy hallway, painted a subtle green hue by Hank's former girlfriend, the only one in the lot Buffy had actually liked. The same ex was responsible for the matching drapes and the tasteful carpets. It had been ages since she had been in this house, but she noticed that it hadn't really changed since their last awkward visit.  
  
Before the divorce, many years ago, Hank had worked almost non-stop. For long periods of time he had barely been around at all. But it was his constant affairs that had finally split Buffy's parents apart. Not that Buffy had known about that at the time; she was, after all, just a kid. She had blamed her mother for letting him go, and had made an art of sulking and glaring. She had found out the truth only a couple of years later. Dawn had only been an infant when Hank left, and for her the whole situation seemed hard to grasp. She felt like she was an alien to her estranged father.  
  
As they entered the dining room, they stopped by the table. The dishes looked like they were prepared with effort but lack of practice. "Oh, please, sit down," Hank said.  
  
They started eating in silence. Buffy noticed that Hank was glancing over at her vegetable-and pasta-covered plate. "Have some steak, Buffy," he said as he held out the tray in her direction.  
  
"Um... no thanks," she said, stabbing another piece of broccoli with her fork.  
  
"Come on, dear. You can't just live on vegetables, can you?" he said, still holding out the tray.  
  
"I have a competition in a few days," she said shortly. "I can't eat steak."  
  
Hank put the tray down, but continued studying his daughter. "But you need some real food." He reached out and grabbed her waist. "Look, skin and bones!" he joked.  
  
Buffy twisted away from his grip. "Don't," she murmured.  
  
"What do you say, Dawn? Isn't your sister too skinny?" he continued.  
  
Dawn looked down at her food without answering. Hank looked at his daughters, fiddling with his napkin.  
  
"So, Buffy, still boxing, huh?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"You're... you're not getting hurt, right?" He furrowed his brow.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"'Cause I watched this documentary on Discovery. About... you know, brain damage."  
  
Buffy closed her eyes tightly for a moment.  
  
"Just worried, that's all." Hank looked nervous. "I mean... aren't there safer sports? I'm not sure it's a suitable activity for you, dear."  
  
"No!" Buffy said sternly.  
  
Hank leaned back in his chair, shifting a little as he tapped his fingers on the table.  
  
Dawn had stopped eating, and was watching their interaction. She inhaled a few times, getting ready to talk. "I... I won first prize in the science fair last month!" she finally said, smiling at her father.  
  
"That's great, Dawnie," he said, reaching for the milk.  
  
"Um... I made some cool atoms out of toothpicks," she said cheerfully. "Miss Anderson said I'm Nobel Prize material."  
  
Hank nodded, chewing on a piece of steak. Dawn turned silently, looking down at her food.  
  
"So, Buffy, how's work?"  
  
Before Buffy could answer, Dawn cut in. "You're still coming at our school musical next week? I'll be Juliet, remember."  
  
Hank turned to Dawn, taking her hand in his. "I'm sorry, Dawnie," he said with an apologetic face. "I had to schedule a business trip to New York for next week." Right away he reached for his wallet. "Do... do you need some money for stage clothes or something? He pulled out two hundred-dollar bills and put them in front to Dawn.  
  
Dawn stared down at the bills on the table. "What's wrong with you?" She stood up quickly, the chair falling to the floor behind her.  
  
"Dawnie?" Hank stood up and touched her arm.  
  
Dawn yanked her arm away and dashed off towards a guest room. "It's DAWN! I'm not five years old anymore!" she shouted before she slammed the door shut behind her.  
  
Buffy looked at her father with both pity and irritation. "I know you're trying, but..." Buffy sighed. "Try harder." Hank was looking back at her with sadness in his eyes, but Buffy ignored the lump that his expression created in her gut. She walked over to the guest room, Hank watching her in silence.  
  
Closing the door and locking it behind her, she looked over at Dawn. She was sitting on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees and her chin resting on her hands, folded up like a teenaged bundle. "Don't let it get to you," she said as she sat down next to Dawn.  
  
"I told him about the musical months ago. He doesn't give a damn about me!"  
  
"I think he does, in his misguided way." She put her hand on Dawn's arm. "He's just awkward with this father stuff. Like he flunked out of parenthood class or something."  
  
Dawn leaned her head against Buffy's shoulder. They sat, silent, for several minutes.  
  
Hank finally knocked hesitantly. "Dawn? Buffy? Please come out so we can talk."  
  
They looked at each other. Buffy reached for the remote, and the TV lit up, its sound drowning out Hank's voice. "I've got to be at Willow's in an hour," she said looking at her watch. "How about we sulk here for half an hour longer, then we make a dramatic exit?"  
  
Dawn nodded and her head fell back at Buffy's shoulder. 


	6. Bonding

Willow tapped her fingers on her thigh. Her body was an almost perfect right angle; she looked like she had had her back measured against a set square.  
  
"Relax, Willow!" Buffy said, placing her hand on Willow's arm. "It's a date in disguise, not an exam."  
  
"Really?" A few wrinkles appeared on Willow's forehead. "Dates are all 'looks: B, charm: A-, table manners C, Pop culture knowledge: F.' I'm happy that it's at least not going on my permanent record."  
  
"Overdramatic much? You're gonna get one of those disorders with wacky names if you don't give this super-serious attitude a rest soon."  
  
"I'm not being overdramatic, I'm being realistic. Every detail is a subtle signal." She narrowed her eyes. "Didn't you dump a guy last year because of his CD collection?"  
  
"He owned the complete works of Barry Manilow! That ranks only a notch lower than crack-addiction on the universal scale of un-datability factors." Buffy smiled. "Believe me, you have no such insano flaws. I'm your buddy, I should know."  
  
"But that's the thing, you're biased!" She waved her hand at Buffy. "You're like those parents of psycho killers who go: 'ooh, but he's such a nice guy. He brought us packages of minced meat every week.'"  
  
"You're not a psycho killer, Willow." Buffy was both concerned and amused by Willow's neuroticism. "You're just a nice girl who thinks too much. He's gonna think you're great!"  
  
"Right. Gonna think I'm great." She said, pouting. "Oh, how did the parental dinner go?" she continued, eager to leave the earlier subject.  
  
Buffy grimaced. "Well, there were all the ingredients: tension, bribing and screaming."  
  
"Oh, joy."  
  
The sudden sound of the doorbell made Willow twitch.  
  
"Don't be discouraged, Snack Man to the rescue!" a voice from the other side of the door said.  
  
Willow relaxed. "Xander wanted to come," she said as she got up to open the door. "He seemed a bit down when I talked to him yesterday, so I thought he could use some company and carbohydrate consumption."  
  
Xander was standing in the hallway, holding two large bags of chips.  
  
"You know it's just the four of us, not any crowds of starving third world orphans?" Willow asked.  
  
"You can never have too many snacks," Xander said as he dumped the bags on the living room table. "It's a motto. No, how about some bowls?"  
  
As Xander disappeared into the kitchen, the doorbell once again rang. Willow froze.  
  
"Go on, open the door," Buffy said, smiling encouragingly.  
  
"Yeah, it looks like wonderboy is here," Xander commented from the kitchen.  
  
"Behave, Xander," Willow frowned. "No embarrassing nickname usage tonight, thank you very much."  
  
"I'll be good, I swear!"  
  
As Willow wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and walked to the door, Xander stuck out his head through the doorpost and Buffy scooted over on the sofa and leaned over to get a view of the front door. When Willow responded by giving them The Glare of Death, Buffy raised her hands defensively and Xander disappeared back into the kitchen, whistling.  
  
Willow took another breath and opened the door. "Hello," she chirped.  
  
"Hello," Oz answered.  
  
For a moment, they looked at each other in silence. Willow stood stiffly, holding the door open with a firm grip. Oz put his hands in his pockets with a look that was adorable and laid-back all in one. "Oh, come in!" She finally blurted out and motioned with her hand. "You know, it's... probably easier to watch the movie, then."  
  
"Well, it's either that or some kind of crazy periscope contraption," Oz said as he entered the apartment and shed his jacket.  
  
Willow smiled nervously. "I think you would need some sort of gripping device for the snacks too. So I vote against it. Not that a periscope wouldn't be fun."  
  
"Makes me think of evil communists, though. And Sean Connery's beard."  
  
"Oh, I had that dream! But there were killer owls made of marshmallows too, and eleven little carpet salesmen from Norway."  
  
"How did the communists and the beard fit in?"  
  
"Well, they were all cousins."  
  
Oz looked at her for a moment and hinted a smile. "You're a strange girl. Good kind of strange, though. Like Dr Pepper."  
  
A big grin erupted on Willow's lips. "Oh... thanks.... um...I guess." For a moment they looked at each other, then Willow turned and led the way into the living room, grinding her hands together.  
  
"Oz, Buffy and Xander," Willow said as she motioned briefly with her hand. "Buffy and Xander, this is... well, that sentence is kind of pointless when you think about it."  
  
"Hi Oz!" Buffy said. "We have heard soo much about you." As Willow glared at her, she continued, "Oh, I mean, she briefly mentioned you. In really vague terms."  
  
"I hope you like chips," Xander said as he placed a couple of bowls on the table and began filling them up. "'Cause we've got lots of them."  
  
As Oz walked over to the sofa and passed Buffy, she mouthed 'cute' silently to Willow, putting a smile on her lips.  
  
Half an hour into the movie, conversation started to draw their attention away from the TV. "Why does that girl have a reflection?" Xander whined. "She's a vampire!"  
  
"Well, maybe she's a mutant. Like an X-Man vampire or something," Buffy suggested.  
  
"Wonder if she could beat Wolverine?" Oz contemplated.  
  
"No way," Xander answered with a smile. "He's got those kick-ass adamantium claws."  
  
"Drifting off into comic book land, are we?" Buffy said, looking over at Willow.  
  
"Oh, but I don't mind! Actually... I kind of had a thing for Marvel when I was younger. I have all the issues of X-Men until 1997."  
  
"Really?" Buddy raised an eyebrow. "You never told me."  
  
"Well, it's... pretty geeky." Willow looked a bit embarrassed.  
  
"I like Nightcrawler," Oz said, looking at Willow.  
  
"Oh, so do I!" Willow said with a grin.  
  
Before they could continue on their path through colored pages, the doorbell rang. "Expecting someone?" Buffy asked, looking over at Willow.  
  
"Nope," she answered as she got up to answer the door, reluctant to end the superhero bonding with Oz.  
  
As she opened the door, her breath hitched a little for a split second as her eyes fell on Spike. Though girls and not-so-straight guys usually flocked around him like hungry wildlife, she never had joined the drooling choir. He was nice, but not her type. Not like it mattered, since he was out of her league anyway. But dressed in impossibly snug jeans and a blue, skin-tight, semi-transparent sweater, he was salty goodness with a yummy coating of naughtiness. Instead of his usual slicked-back hair, he had a stylish version of bed hair. Not bad. Really.  
  
"Hi Red," he said, slouching a little bit, his hands in his pockets. "Just wanted to pick up the new schedule. You took one for me, right?"  
  
"Yup," Willow said, snapping out of her dirty thoughts. "Going somewhere?" she asked as she started looking for her handbag.  
  
"Been somewhere. Goin' home," he said, sounding a bit grumpy.  
  
"Already?"  
  
"Well, I went to some lame bar with Clem. A couple of hours of country covers and Clem discussing feng shui was all I could take." He glanced towards the living room. "Got guests?"  
  
"Yeah, we're watching Underworld," she said.  
  
"Oh, love it. Bloody stupid that the vampires have reflections, though."  
  
Willow smiled. "We already established that fact. I must have left my purse in the living room. Why don't you come in?"  
  
As they entered the living room, two pairs of eyes fell on Spike. If this were a movie, the camera would be zooming in, and some intense musical score would be playing.  
  
The hazel ones belonged to Buffy.  
  
She felt a sudden rush of heat at the sight of her gorgeous co-worker. He looked hot. Really hot. Bad Buffy, she thought. Boy has boyfriend. But she couldn't help it. The friendly PG-rated feelings she had had for him these last few days were suddenly MIA, lost in the desolate jungles of her mind behind the enemy lines of her awakening hormones.  
  
Xander's gaze, on the other hand, was less appreciative. His jaw was twitching a little and his eyes narrowed when he looked over at Spike. Suddenly he spat out, "Oh, did Angel let you come out and play?"  
  
"Huh?" Spike turned to Xander and raised an eyebrow. "Is this about yesterday?" Spike asked with an expression of irritation and confusion.  
  
"No, it's about how you always drop me for Angel. And everything and everyone else too, by the way." Xander crossed his arms.  
  
Buffy, Willow and Oz looked at the abruptly erupting argument in confusion, mouths slightly agape, except for Oz, who just looked vaguely intrigued.  
  
"Are we having some kind of "talk" here all of a sudden?" Spike asked, mirroring Xander's crossed arms.  
  
"Well, I'm just tired of you dropping our plans every time Angel winks an eye!"  
  
Spike was getting ticked off. "I don't...!" His lips tightened for a moment. "Oh, I know what this is about!" he said, pointing at Xander with an accusing finger. "It's all about your homophobic bullshit as usual! You have never accepted that I have a boyfriend! You have hated Angel since the moment I started seein' him!"  
  
"I might not like Angel," Xander stood up and faced Spike. "But it's because he's creepy, not because he's got a dick! I'm not homophobic!"  
  
It felt almost like one of those stupid cowboy showdown scenes. Xander and Spike were staring at each other as if they each expected to make the other one run away screaming with a glare alone. Cue crickets and tumbleweed.  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Spike crossed his arms and tilted his head, grinning. "You know, I was kind of thinkin' about goin' to Rapture later. Why don't you guys follow me? Or is it too much gayness for you, Xander?" His voice had a taunting tone.  
  
"I... I wouldn't mind going to Rapture. But, there's a d... a movie watching thing going on here, and..."  
  
"And also, your poor manliness would probably self-destruct."  
  
"That does it! We're going to Rapture!" Xander said, silently cursing how easy he was to maneuver.  
  
It was Oz's voice that finally broke the silence. "So, Rapture, is it some kind of gay club?"  
  
"Yeah," Spike answered, tearing his eyes away from Xander's fuming gaze. "The best."  
  
"Cool. I've never been to a gay club before. Being straight and all."  
  
Willow and Buffy looked at each other. "I guess we're going out," Buffy said. She gave Willow a sympathetic look, but she couldn't help letting her eyes trail back to Spike for a moment. 'Mmm. Yummy'.  
  
Willow slumped back on the sofa and gave Oz a pale smile. Goodbye date in disguise, hello gay clubbing.  
  
Six months earlier  
  
"You're my hero!" Xander stated as Spike pulled out the six-pack and placed it on the living room table. "I forgot to drop by at the store on my way home."  
  
"Well, you provide the big TV, it's only reasonable that I bring the beer." Spike fell back into one of the armchairs, casually throwing one leg over the armrest while opening a can. "The game should start soon. It's almost 7."  
  
"Yeah," Xander said as he sat down into the other chair, turning on the TV. The sound of commentators trying to prophesize over the upcoming game filled the room.  
  
"So, what have you been doing lately?" Xander asked as he opened a beer of his own. "Haven't seen you around too much for a couple of weeks. You know, if you're plotting to take over the world, I want in on it."  
  
"Well, I've just been busy," Spike said and took a sip of his beer. He paused for a moment. "Actually, I'm seein' someone."  
  
Xander stiffened a little. "Why haven't you told me?"  
  
"I'm tellin' you now," Spike said, his eyes locked on the screen.  
  
"So, who is she?" Xander looked both curious and disappointed.  
  
Spike took another sip, still looking closely at the commentators. "He."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"It's a bloke."  
  
Xander stared at Spike for a moment, then burst out laughing. "No, really. Who is she?"  
  
As Spike looked at him with a dead serious expression, Xander quickly choked on his chuckles. "A guy. You're... you're seeing a guy?"  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"But... but..." Xander suddenly looked a bit pale. "You're straight! You've had girlfriends! You ogle the silicone-enhanced temp girl! You like Cleopatra 2525, and god knows, nobody watches that series for the plot!"  
  
Spike felt some real discomfort creeping around in his gut. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't give a damn. But this was Xander. His best friend Xander. And he was supposed to be all supportive and understanding. Not like he had really expected him to, if he were being honest with himself. Xander liked to keep people in clearly labeled boxes. Women were women, men were men, and gays were the people on TV who redecorated homes in stupid colors and force-sprayed unsuspecting guys with fake suntan. They weren't people who were currently sitting in his armchair, drinking beer and waiting for the football game to start.  
  
"Well, as it turns out, I like both apples and pears."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's a metaphor, Xan. I'm bi."  
  
"You... got a pear craving, just like that?" Xander shifted in his chair. "I mean, if you're an apple guy, you're an apple guy, right?"  
  
"Well, it's not like I haven't thought about pears..." Spike grimaced. "Guys before."  
  
The horror on Xander's face hinted that he suddenly recalled all the times they had been naked together in locker rooms, showers, and other nude-ish situations.  
  
"Not you, Xander!" Spike said, knowing all to well where Xander's mind was spinning off to. "It's not like I wanna shag every bloke I see! Well, a lot of them... but not you! You're my friend. Period."  
  
Spike using the word shag and bloke in the same sentence seemed to rattle Xander even more. "Oh, the game... the game is starting!" he stuttered.  
  
They both sat back in their chairs, staring at the TV in silence.  
  
"Angel," Spike said after a couple of minutes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"His name is Angel."  
  
"Oh... right."  
  
The bass vibrated through their bodies as a constantly repeating earthquake. Brightly colored lights pulsed around them and painted the dancing crowds into a big red, green and blue mass of bodies. Buffy, Willow, Xander and Oz clung together, looking around with wide eyes. This wasn't like any other club they had been to before. They closely followed Spike, who confidently walked through the room, nodding at a few acquaintances on the way.  
  
As they reached the bar, Spike looked back at his little herd and chuckled at some at their timid expressions. "Get us some pretty colorful drinks, won't you," Spike said to the bartender.  
  
The bartender looked over at the gang and smiled. "So, Spike, bringing straight people for a field trip?"  
  
Spike grinned. "Is it that obvious?"  
  
"Well, yeah," the bartender said as he mixed together a pink fluid and poured it in five high glasses.  
  
As they reached for their glasses, Spike looked over at Xander. "Scared yet?"  
  
"Ooh, men, drinks, music, lights. Yeah, that's the stuff that horror movies are made of," Xander said, glaring at Spike.  
  
"If you say so," Spike said, sipping on his drink.  
  
Willow sighed at their adolescent behavior, and looked over at Oz. This night hadn't gone as planned, but it might still be salvageable. "So, Oz," she said. "Do you want to get a table?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
As they made their way through the crowd, Oz turned to Willow. "What's up with those two?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "Don't really know. Friendship stuff." Willow grimaced. "Ehm... Sorry about all the craziness. Usually we're all normal. Especially me. I'm super normal, really. Nope, no craziness here." They spotted a table and sat down.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
Willow twitched. "What?"  
  
"Completely normal people are boring. You're not boring."  
  
"Oh... oh, thanks." Willow blushed. "Neither are you."  
  
Xander walked aimlessly past the dancing men, trying his best not to come into contact with naked skin or any clothed delicate body parts. When he got the other side of the room, he leaned back against the wall, quickly sinking his drink. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this out of place. Maybe some high school gym class. Possibly during rope climbing. 'Need more booze,' he thought. He walked up to a nearby bar and, with an uncomfortable expression, squeezed in between two large men. "Give me something strong," he said as he finally caught the bartender's attention. He was handed a large glass filled with a clear liquid, and as soon as he had paid he started sipping the soothing fluid.  
  
"Hi there, come here often?" When Xander turned, he found that a guy had walked up to him and was looking at him with a friendly smile.  
  
Xander unconsciously backed up against the bar, looking almost startled. "No... no I don't... I'm just... I'm here with Spike, a friend, not boyfriend... just regular... I mean... girls! I like girls!"  
  
The other guy looked at Xander with amusement. "Take it easy, I'm just making conversation."  
  
"Well, just want to make clear. I... I'm not a guy guy... Oh, not like I... have problem with it, just..." Xander took a big drink from his glass.  
  
"A little bit nervous?"  
  
"Um... well... kind of."  
  
"Well, don't be. Gay people don't bite." He grinned. "Unless you want them to, of course." When Xander jumped a little, he laughed. "Sorry, I'm just teasing you. Bad gay man. I'm Tom, by the way."  
  
"Um... Xander," he said, waving his hand weakly. Xander's gaze suddenly fell on Tom's t-shirt, and his eyes lit up. "Spirited Away? You like anime?"  
  
"Well, yeah! I love it! Especially Spirited Away. It's so cool! Too bad they only showed it in a dubbed version on the theaters. I had to watch it on DVD to get the good version. Dubbing is such a blasphemy."  
  
"My point exactly!" Xander said before sinking the last of his drink.  
  
Buffy watched Spike's resolute expression as he stared out into the crowd, fiddling with his straw. She wanted to ask what was going on with him and Xander, but this was neither the time nor the place. And furthermore, it was none of her business. Instead, she joined him in studying the people who were dancing around them. After a while, she sighed and looked down at her drink. "If my trainer knew I was staying up late, drinking, he would keelhaul me. Or whatever the appropriate 21st century equivalent is. Stripping of email privileges?"  
  
Spike seemed to momentarily transfer some of the mental energy previously assigned to sulking to make conversation. "What do you train in?"  
  
"Boxing. I've got a competition in a few days, so I really should be in Shaolin Monk-mode right now."  
  
Suddenly Spike was very attentive. "Boxing? That's not really a common thing for women."  
  
"Well, the girlie manual was in German, so I guess I assembled me wrong," Buffy said, crossing her arms.  
  
"Didn't mean it like that. Think it's pretty cool, that's all." Spike relaxed in his chair. "For a while I was thinkin' about takin' it up myself, actually. Never got around to it, though."  
  
"Really?" Buffy smiled at Spike. "If you want to, I could get you started. I could use some training in thinking through the techniques. Usually you're so absorbed in it, you don't really think too much." Good, altruistic Buffy. No thoughts about a shirtless and sweaty Spike. No siree.  
  
"Sure!" Spike smiled. "When do we start?"  
  
"Why not tomorrow?" Buffy drank some more of the pink stuff. "I planned on going down to the boxing club around noon; I can pick you up if you don't live too far away."  
  
"937 Madison Road, apartment 32D, next to that really big Mormon church. It's not far."  
  
Buffy pulled up a piece of paper for her handbag and wrote it down. "Well, then it's settled. I'll come by around half past 11, so be ready."  
  
"I can practically hear the Rocky soundtrack already," he grinned.  
  
A few reminders of her dinner with Hank came seeping through uninvited past Spike's bursting enthusiasm. Her shoulders suddenly slumped a little. "I wished that everybody were as boxing-friendly."  
  
"Unsupportive friends?"  
  
"Unsupportive parent." Buffy stabbed her drink with the straw.  
  
"That sucks."  
  
"'I'm not sure it's a suitable activity for you, dear,'" she quoted with a cynical tone. "Dads are like some freaky alien pod people race," she said and looked up at Spike. "Don't you think?"  
  
Spike stiffened and broke eye contact. "Dunno, mine was... pretty normal."  
  
"Oh... he is...?" Buffy's eyes widened when she realized her blunder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be offensive."  
  
"No, it's ok." He looked up at her again with eyes that somewhat ruined the casual look he was aiming for. "It was a long time ago. High school."  
  
"That must have been hard." Buffy leaned closer.  
  
"Uh. Well..." He tapped his fingers on the table. "I... I guess." He turned silent for a moment. "Bloody stupid to get a brain hemorrhage at his age," he muttered, looking down into his drink.  
  
"So he was no pod person, huh?" Buffy said in a soft voice.  
  
"No, he was... he was nice. Really nice." He blinked. "I miss him." As he spoke the words he looked embarrassed, like he had just handed over some government blueprints to a shady looking guy with a Russian accent.  
  
"Naturally," she said, studying him closely. "If my dad died I would be heartbroken. And he's kind of a good-for-nothing bastard, so I couldn't imagine how it would be if we actually were friends."  
  
Spike looked at her in silence. As he opened his mouth to tell her how right she was, he suddenly saw a familiar face looking at him through the crowd. Instinctively he pulled back a little from Buffy.  
  
Angel moved past the dancing people like Moses, commanding a path through the crowd. His eyes were locked on Spike, hardly even blinking. Angel stopped dead in his tracks in front of him. "I tried to reach you," he said, looking down with distaste at Spike's clothes.  
  
Spike picked up his cell phone. The display read '12 missed calls.' "Um... I'm just clubbin' a little." Spike said, squirming. His voice revealed several levels of discomfort. "Not milk carton material just yet."  
  
"I called you at Willow's and Xander's, but you weren't there," Angel said, slowly leaning in closer. His lips grazed the skin on Spike's neck as he continued in a quiet voice, too low to reach Buffy's ears but loud enough to vibrate against Spike's skin. "So I guessed that you were here, flaunting yourself for your little..." Spike saw him glancing over at Buffy. "Friends." Angel's eyes were cold and hard. "They better know that you're mine," he whispered. In one swift move he snaked his hands around Spike's waist and pulled him out of his chair. His mouth came crashing down on Spike's with a fierce intensity.  
  
Buffy stared at the scene, unsure of what to make of it. She quickly tore her eyes away, looking closely at the bottles behind the bar instead, a crack on the wall, some guys in the corner who were.... Ok... looking at Spike again. Stupid pretty lips on someone else, on pretty boyfriend. Right. Looking at the guys in the corner again.  
  
Angel's lips were forceful, punishing, his tongue demanding, sliding against Spike's in a powerful dance. Spike felt lightheaded. This moment was all right and all wrong. Probably more of the later, but when he was flushed and panting he didn't question things to closely. When Angel finally pulled away, he stared at Spike in silence for a moment with a look that made him shiver, and not just in a good way. "We're leaving," he said, and grabbed Spike's arm.  
  
Spike opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. As Angel led him away, he threw an apologetic look at Buffy, before he disappeared into the crowd. Buffy blinked. What the hell had just happened?  
  
The bed squeaked as Spike fell back on it, his pale, naked body splayed on the mattress like he was a blushing virgin prepared for a ritual slaughter. His eyes were both lidded and hesitant, looking up at Angel's clothed form in silence. Soon Angel got down on his knees on the bed without breaking the eye contact and reached for something on the floor. As Angel leaned forward, Spike sat up to kiss him. Suddenly he felt his arms being pulled together and the cotton cloth of a bathrobe string tightening around his wrists. As Spike looked up at him with a questioning gaze, Angel straddled his thighs, leaning up close against Spike's chest, his lips grazing Spike's. "Don't you wanna play?" he asked in a low voice, his teeth starting to nip their way down neck and chest.  
  
As he bit down on a hardened nipple, Spike twitched. "Yes!" he gasped. As soon as the admission passed his lips, Spike felt himself being pushed back on the bed, a sudden pain coursing through his uncomfortably restricted arms. As he struggled back up into a sitting position, Angel got up next to the bed. He walked over to the open wardrobe, then returned holding a cotton scarf. "Angel...?" Spike asked as Angel tied the scarf tightly over his eyes, but he didn't get any answer.  
  
"Well then, let's play." Angel's voice was dark.  
  
Spike stared into the dark cloth. His breath seemed loud, like it was echoing through the room. "Shouldn't we have some kind of safe word or something?"  
  
There was a small sound of Angel's shirt sliding off his body and falling to the floor. "No," he said.  
  
The whole situation was twisted, but Spike couldn't help it; he was already impossibly hard. Angel's voice stirred something deep inside of him. Made him scared. Made him ready to beg for more. His heart beat harder as he heard Angel's remaining clothes fall to the floor. He closed his eyes behind the dark cloth, waiting.  
  
Angel's steps momentarily receded from the room and Spike could hear him scrambling through a couple of drawers. He then walked back into the bedroom, dropping some things on the bedside table. "What are you doin', Angel?" Spike asked.  
  
Swiftly, Angel got down on the bed and grabbed Spike hair, jerking him forward. Spike winced from the sudden pain. "Did I tell you that you could talk?"  
  
"N... no, but..."  
  
"Then shut up!" Angel snapped, pulling even harder on Spike's hair.  
  
Spike gasped and bowed his head. "Good bitch," Angel whispered, his lips grazing over Spike's cheek. Angel's hands left Spike's trembling body and for a couple of minutes; the room was almost silent. Spike was sitting still, afraid to move or wonder where all this was going.  
  
Suddenly a whistling sound cut through the air, followed by a burning streak of pain on his back. Spike hollered from the shock and the sharp ache, arching his back forward. He blinked behind the blindfold. Heat surged through his body, carrying fear, lust, pain, and everything in between.  
  
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Angel's voice rumbled behind him. Within seconds the hard material slapped down on his ass, this time even harder. Spike swallowed the distressed noises his throat wanted to produce. His body tensed as an unconscious protection, trying to shield itself with hard muscles and tightly strung tendons.  
  
The weight of Angel's body left the bed. "That's right, bitch. Know your place." Spike heard Angel walking slowly along the bed. He then leaned forward, his voice vibrating next to Spike's ear. "Do you remember whose little slut you are?" Once more, the improvised whip came down on his aching ass. "Or do you forget when you see a nice rack?" When the blow came this time, it broke the skin. Spike twisted his body, his face contorting into a pained grimace. His cock, though, seemed to have a life of its own, growing, throbbing, begging for attention, clearly not aware that pain was a bad thing and that Angel's words were cold and sharp.  
  
Spike suddenly felt the soft, wet surface of a tongue sliding slowly over the narrow gash, saliva mingling with the seeping blood. As Angel pulled back he harshly twisted Spike's shivering body, pressing their lips together, a bloody tongue invading Spike's mouth. A coppery taste reached Spike's unsuspecting taste buds. "Do you like it?" Angel asked in a low voice. "Do you like the taste of your own pain?" Without waiting for an answer, Angel shoved Spike forward, burrowing his head into the mattress, his hand gripping Spike's is neck tightly.  
  
Spike felt Angel shift to the side and a vague sound came from the bedside table. Suddenly he felt a hot drop of wax landing on his sweaty skin. Spike blinked away a few budding tears of pain. Moments later the drops continued in a steady rhythm, raining down over Spike's burning body. He couldn't help letting out gasps against the mattress, finally moaning out loud. Immediately the drops stopped falling. Angel reached out and grabbed something. Soon Spike felt Angel's cock at his entrance, and before he could brace himself, Angel rammed his scarcely slicked-up member as far as it could go, splitting Spike open in the process. Spike raised his head, letting out a cry, but Angel pushed his head back into the mattress, continuing without pause to pump into Spike's ass, his dick slick with lube and blood. "Like being fucked?" he panted. "Like being taken like the bitch you are?" Spike didn't answer. His face was deeply buried in the pillow, contorted with pain and excitement. As their mutual panting grew in intensity, Angel reached around Spike's torso, taking the base of his hard dick in a firm grip. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out and came hard, his body jerking as he spurted the milky fluid over Spike's back and ass.  
  
Angel leaned back on one arm, breathing deeply, the other one still holding Spike's dick in a firm grip.  
  
Minutes later, Angel finally shifted, leaning forward. "So, do you think I should let you come?"  
  
"Yes" Spike moaned, moving his body to try to get some friction against his aching cock.  
  
"Whose bitch are you?" Angel asked.  
  
Spike hesitated. "Y...Yours!" he finally gasped.  
  
With that, Angel started stroking him at a quick pace. Within a minute, Spike erupted on the mattress, spilling a white sticky puddle in front of him. As he was coming down from the orgasm, he suddenly became very aware of the spatter of semen running down his back, the aching of his restricted wrists. And of Angel, sitting behind him in silence. "Could... could you...?" he asked cautiously.  
  
A moment later he felt Angel's hands untying him. The hands then continued up his arms, the fingers playing in the damp curls in the back of his head, finally moving up to remove the blindfold. Spike blinked, staring out into the dark room. He was sitting still, hardly even breathing. Lips placed a soft kiss on his shoulder. "I love you, Spike," Angel muttered.  
  
Spike closed his eyes. 


	7. Eye of the Tiger

He started stirring at the feeling of warm fingers running down his sweaty chest. He groaned and opened his eyes. The room was too hot for comfort and he felt sticky and smelly. The aches in his body completed the experience: his wrists hurt, his skin was sensitive, his ass was burning, and his muscles protested when he started moving under Angel's touch. "Good morning," Angel muttered behind him and placed a soft kiss on his neck.  
  
Spike blinked and sat up. "Um... good morning." As the sunlight hit him, he closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his face.  
  
Angel's arms snaked around his waist. He leaned his naked body against Spike's back, resting his cheek between Spike's shoulder blades. Fingertips slowly caressed Spike's abdomen, and he sighed, leaning back against Angel's robust body. One of the hands left his belly, picking away a couple of bits of wax from his back, and soft lips kissed the sensitive skin underneath. In the brightly lit bedroom and with a snuggly Angel next to him, last night felt like a strange contrast. He felt a little bit dazed.  
  
"So, what do you want for breakfast?" Angel asked.  
  
Spike smiled a little. "Don't know if there's much breakfast material. Unless you're plannin' on makin' a beer and noodle omelet."  
  
Angel chuckled. "I'll see what I can find."  
  
Spike tilted his head and watched Angel closely as he got up from the bed and put on his pants. God, he was so bloody fuckable! All those gorgeous muscles playing under his flawless skin, those pretty eyes, and of course his glorious dick, which should be considered the eight wonder of the world. Yeah, he was bloody perfection.  
  
As Angel started roaming around in the kitchen, Spike got up from the bed. Reaching for his watch, his eyes fell on the marks on his wrists. They ached a little, just like the rest of his body. Spike grinned. Angel had a skill for dirty games. Suddenly the words bitch and slut flew through his head. He blinked and walked into the kitchen with quick steps.  
  
"So, you found something useful?" he asked, running his hands over Angel's naked back.  
  
"Yeah, I'm making you french toast," he said, reaching for the sugar.  
  
"I have bread?" Spike asked in an amused tone. "If you find any pirate treasures in there, I claim half of them."  
  
"You can have all of it," Angel said, leaning in for a kiss. "I just need you."  
  
Spike deepened the kiss, closing his eyes and taking in the taste of Angel. God, Xander was so wrong! Angel was his love, his life, everything. And Angel loved him. Why couldn't Xander see that? As Spike broke away from Angel, he felt a bit troubled. He walked back into the living room and started putting on his trousers. "I think I have to leave after breakfast and a shower," he said, looking at his watch.  
  
Angel looked at Spike from the kitchen. "Oh, and why is that?" His voice was significantly less happy now. "Is there someone important waiting for you?" His voice mingled with sizzling and the faint sound of the kitchen fan.  
  
Spike met his eyes and sighed. "Just Xander. We kind of had a fight yesterday. I think I should talk to him before B...." he stopped himself. "Xander can be cranky for ages when he makes up his mind about somethin'. I should probably nip it in the bud."  
  
Angel was silent for a moment. "So, what has he made up his mind about this time?"  
  
Spike broke eye contact, squinting against the bright sunlight that fell through the window. "Oh, nothin' interestin'."  
  
Six months ago  
  
As they finally broke apart, Spike's breath met Angel's lips in short bursts. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mind fuzzy and scattered. When he looked at his lover it felt almost like he was a character some kitschy x- rated fairytale. Angel's naked form was displayed against the background of a stunning sunset over the green hills behind the cabin, framed by the balcony door. It was a perfect moment. Material for cheap paperback romance novels, save for the fact that the dashing hunk on the cover rarely was kissing another hunk.  
  
For a moment Spike suddenly tensed. While he was in the middle of things, everything felt so right, so natural. Hands touching, lips trailing. Tongue licking flushed skin, hard nipples, tense opening. But when he allowed the higher brain functions to join in, he still felt like he was freaking out in slow motion. All the macho stuff firmly embedded in his brain was telling him to take his manliness and run while he still could, but something else was screaming louder, an intense fuzzy feeling deep in his gut that begged for more.  
  
"You're so beautiful," Angel said, caressing his cheek. "I wish I could paint, 'cause you would make a lovely motif." Spike's eyes fluttered close. He felt Angel's words vibrate through his soul. Soft, moist lips grazed his cheek and a warm hand caressed his back. He placed a kiss on Spike's waiting mouth. "You amaze me," he muttered against Spike's lips. The fuzzy feeling suddenly erupted, filling his entire body in an instant. He reciprocated the kiss with the intensity of a lovesick teenager. Something deep inside of him felt whole when they touched. He needed it; he needed Angel.  
  
"I love you," he suddenly burst out when their lips parted. Angel smiled. "I love you too, Spike."  
  
That moment was one of those few pivotal events that would get an entire section in the scrapbook of his mind. Every detail preserved and glued to imaginary pages, commented in the margins with gold ink. The polaroid in the middle with the L-word passing between them.  
  
In that moment, Spike found that he was no longer fighting it. Instead he embraced it with all his rash devotion. He tilted his head and looked at his brand new boyfriend with a cocky grin before pulling Angel close with eager hands, parting willing lips with a probing tongue. For once in his life everything felt right.  
  
As consciousness started seeping through the heavy slumber, the pain hit his head like a big frozen turkey. Groaning, he reluctantly opened his eyes. Everything felt sharp and sickening. Xander groaned again, pressing a trembling hand against his forehead. Flashes of yesterday's events ran through his mind. There were squabbling, a lot of guys dancing, some pink drink, some other kind of alcohol, talking about anime, more alcohol, dancing on some kind of bar, doing a really bad Bill Clinton imitation, more alcohol. He took a few shaky breaths and remembered the aspirin in the nightstand. As he turned to his other side his eyes snapped wide open.  
  
"Well, good morning, sleepyhead."  
  
With a short scream he jumped to his feet while quickly wrapping himself in the blanket, making a perfect imitation of the fat lady in the Tom & Jerry cartoons. He stared down at the bare-chested man wrapped in his bedding. "What are... what did...?"  
  
Tom smiled, tousled bed hair framing his face. "Oh, come on, was I that un- memorable?"  
  
Xander felt like he was in the middle of some scene from Twin Peaks, one of the scary ones with Bob. For a moment he closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember. Alcohol, talking, alcohol, Bill Clinton, leaving the club with the gay guy. Sweet merciful Zeus! "We... we didn't do anything bad? Right?" he stuttered.  
  
Tom looked contemplative. "Well, the blow job was great, the fucking was excellent. Nope, can't recall anything bad."  
  
Xander's mouth opened, then closed again without making a sound. He felt like the world was ending and Bruce Willis was nowhere to be found.  
  
On the bed beneath him, Tom chuckled a little before his face contorted into an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry." He smiled a little. "You looked kind of funny freaking out; I couldn't help it."  
  
Xander was still staring. "So, we didn't...?"  
  
Tom pulled off the sheets and got up from the bed. The fact that he was wearing pants was making Xander feel a notch less panicky. "You were going to show me your Gundarm action figures. Not that I didn't intend to make a pass at you," Tom said, raising a teasing eyebrow. "But you seemed too drunk and uninterested for that." He grabbed the sweater that was piled on the floor and pulled it over his head. "Guess I sort of passed out." He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, rubbing his temple. "Speaking of drunk, have you got any painkillers?"  
  
Xander slowly peeked down, noticing with great relief that he was in fact fully covered by wrinkled garments. He dropped the sheet on the bed and looked up at the stranger, trying to figure out what the hell you were supposed to say in a situation like this. He watched the other man walk into the kitchen and pour himself a big glass of water. "So, Tom was it...?" Xander asked tentatively.  
  
At the sound of the knock on the door he froze.  
  
He wasn't exactly longing for visitors at the moment. If he just stayed silent he/she would probably go away. If he was lucky it was the Jehovah's Witnesses. Which wasn't a sentence he ever thought would pass through his mind.  
  
After a while Spike's voice came through the front door. "I heard you in there!"  
  
Damn those thin walls!  
  
"Come on, open the door," Spike said after a short pause.  
  
Xander looked over at Tom who was standing in the kitchen, still drinking. Xander walked over to the door and opened it just enough to peek out.  
  
Spike had his hands in his pockets, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Listen," he said. "Things got kind of out of hand yesterday, and I thought we could... you know... slap each others backs and grunt in mutual understandin'."  
  
"Slapping and grunting sounds just fine..." Xander grimaced. "On second thought, how about shaking hands and nodding in stern silence?"  
  
"Sure. We're cool?"  
  
"Yeah." Xander nervously glanced into the apartment. "Listen, this isn't a good time. I... have some stuff to do and..."  
  
The sound of a few short beeps was heard from the kitchen. Xander's eyes widened.  
  
"Do you have a beeper?" Spike smiled. "For what? Bloody Mary emergencies?"  
  
To Spike's surprise there were a few noises from the apartment, then the sound of a male voice. "Gotta go, Xander. They need me at the hospital. Probably shouldn't have been drinking yesterday, huh?"  
  
Xander looked at Tom in silence as he opened the door and walked past him into the hallway. "So," Tom said. "I'll see you around."  
  
As Tom passed down the hallway and turned the corner Spike stared at Xander, then burst out into hysterical laugher. "Bloody hell, Xander!"  
  
"It's not like that!" Xander said in a distressed voice. "We just slept. You know, not together, well, yes together, but not..."  
  
Spike threw back his head, chuckling like a madman. "Jesus, I didn't think you had it in you!" He put his hands on his hips and grinned. "So, what did you think of Dick? Will he be visiting again?"  
  
"Hey! Nothing even remotely sexy happened, just talking and passing out!"  
  
"Whatever," Spike said before bursting out into laugher again.  
  
Xander sighed heavily and burried his face in his hands. "If you speak about this with anyone I'm gonna make you hurt in places you never knew could hurt in!" He waved his finger at Spike.  
  
"Sure mate," Spike said, putting his hands defensively in the air. "But that doesn't mean that I won't tease you mercilessly for years and years whenever we're alone."  
  
Xander closed his eyes tightly and sighed again, feeling nausea coming on.  
  
An hour later, Buffy knocked on the door of apartment 32D. She couldn't help feeling a bit curious. Was Spike an IKEA guy? Did he have Persian rugs or posters of Pamela Anderson? It wasn't like she exactly knew him, even though there definitely had been some bonding going on.  
  
As the door opened she threw him her brightest smile. "Hi there, ready for practice?"  
  
Spike looked a bit hurried. "Um... I just have to pack some trainin' clothes. Come in, I'll be ready in no time."  
  
As she stepped into the small apartment, she studied it closely. It had all the trademarks of a messy home that had been quickly cleaned up - paper lying in large stacks and clothes sticking out from beneath the armchair. Spike was also clearly not an interior design freak. The walls had neutral yellow wallpaper and were decorated with a few action movie posters. The furniture was basic. 'Hah!' she thought. 'IKEA guy!' As she turned, she noticed two large bookshelves to her right. She smiled a little. She hadn't really figured Spike for the bookworm type. As the sounds of Spike's rummaging through his closet continued in the background, she walked up to the shelves. She tilted her head and ran her fingers over the books. They weren't even sci-fi books or something; these were classics. Grapes of Wrath, Crime and Punishment.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. Romeo and Juliet? The book was old, with leather covers and ornate black letters on the back. As she pulled it out to look more closely at it, a small bundle of papers fell out from between the books and fluttered to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, starting to gather the papers. "I dropped your..." She looked down at the papers. "Poetry?"  
  
The rummaging stopped abruptly and Spike came dashing into the living room with a sweater flopping in his hand. He grabbed the papers she was holding and quickly threw together the ones that were still spread out on the floor. "Just shoppin' lists! And other lists! Of stuff..." Was Spike blushing? He shoved the papers into a drawer and closed it quickly. "Found my trainin' clothes. Lets' go."  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Sure." She looked over at Spike, who was hauling a gym bag over his shoulders, refusing to meet her eyes. He had that stern expression that was the trademark result of trying to cover up an embarrassment. She smiled to herself. Spike wrote poetry! And sappy stuff, it seemed, from the few words she picked up before he went all denial-y on her and pulled the papers out of her hands.  
  
As they walked down to the car, Buffy glanced over at Spike. Well, better find something neutral to talk about. "You seemed in a hurry. Am I pulling you away from something important?"  
  
"Nah. I just came home from visitin' Xander."  
  
"Oh, buddies again?" she asked as she unlocked the door .  
  
"Yeah. We fight like hell sometimes but we don't stay mad for long." They got into the car and Buffy turned the key in the ignition. Her old trusty car started with a coughing sound. "Not before Angel at least." Spike jaws twitched.  
  
From her brief encounter with Angel, she could definitely guess that he was someone who caused reactions. The scene at the club had been pretty intense. He seemed a bit...possessive. Sort of creepy, in a hot way. "What's the problem?" she asked.  
  
"He doesn't get it. You know, me and Angel," he said, looking out at the palm trees that passed by outside the window.  
  
"I noticed."  
  
"Kinda ruined your movie night, huh?"  
  
"Pretty much." She smiled. "But I'll live. Xander looked a bit pale, though."  
  
"Not as pale as he was this morning." Spike grinned. "Must have been something he ate."  
  
"How long have you two known each other, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, pretty much forever." Spike crossed his arms. "We met the in junior high, when I moved here from England. Some bully was teasing Xander and I threw an eraser in the guy's face. Got my head shoved into the toilet on lunch break, though. But it was definitely worth it. Xander gave me all his M&Ms."  
  
Many years ago  
  
"Leave him alone!" As Xander's eraser hit the big, freckled guy straight on the nose, he howled and reached for the gigantic math book on his bench. "I'm gonna fucking kill you, Harris!" So, this was it, Xander thought. He had been right all along: math would actually be the death of him. At that moment the teacher entered the room. Clueless to the tension, he dropped his papers on the desk and turned to the class. "Good morning. We will continue with the algebra we started working on in the last lesson."  
  
As the teacher continued talking, Xander exhaled. After a moment, he turned to the nervous English boy next to him, who was shaking the spitballs out of his unruly hair. "Are you ok?" he whispered. The boy nodded. "I'm Xander. Actually, it's Alexander, but nobody ever calls me that unless I'm in trouble."  
  
The boy managed a shy smile. "I'm William."  
  
"Welcome to Sunnyhell Junior High," Xander said dryly.  
  
William sighed. His gaze was sad and pale. "Don't think I belong here," he said in a small voice.  
  
Xander looked over at William. "Pfft. Sure you do! You'll learn to duck and cover in no time." When William didn't show any signs of cheering up, Xander started scrambling through his pockets. "Candy makes everything better, you know," he said, stealthily pulling up a bag of M&Ms behind the desk. "It's pretty much a general rule," he said as he poured some of them in William's hand.  
  
William looked down at the colorful pieces of candy and smiled a little. "I guess."  
  
Moments later, a crumpled piece of paper hit Xander's head. As he unwrapped it he sighed. "Well, I didn't have time to wash my hair this morning..."  
  
"Move your right foot back a little bit more. Now turn it outwards. Good."  
  
Spike looked down at his feet. "Feels weird."  
  
"You'll get used to it."  
  
The big open room was filled with the sound of scattered grunts and the faint smell of sweat. There were a few sandbags hanging from the ceiling, some being punched at by mean-looking people. Further back in the room there were two rings, currently occupied by a few scrawny kids and a trainer who looked a lot like a defector from one of those countries with lots of z's and sch's in its name.  
  
"Now move your hips forward a little," Buffy said. "They are supposed to be positioned in a line between your shoulders and an imaginary point between your feet."  
  
Spike repositioned his body. "Like this?"  
  
"Yeah! You're looking all balance-y." She smiled. "Like one of those rounded toy men."  
  
Spike frowned. "You're callin' me fat?"  
  
Buffy furrowed her brow. "Yeah, 'cause this is the parallel Twiggy universe."  
  
Spike chuckled and looked down at his body. "What? Too lean and fit for you?"  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. "Cocky much? Being pretty might get you a lot of tips, but it won't make you Mike Tyson."  
  
"Oh, so you think I'm pretty, eh?" he smirked.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Do you want to learn this or am I keeping you from a hot date with the mirror?"  
  
"Sorry. I'll be good. So, when are we getting to the punching part?"  
  
"Well, that would be right about now."  
  
After an hour of training, the insight had finally dawned on Spike that boxing was significantly harder than it seemed. His head hurt from trying to keep track of how to stand, how to angle his arms, and how to hit the sandbag with the right technique, but it was a lot of fun. He loved physical activity as long as it didn't mean any form of housework. His own gym felt almost like a second home to him, which, to his own great satisfaction, had eventually resulted in a rather muscular physique. Yet when he was standing here, studying the woman who was demonstrating jabs in front of him, he was well aware that she probably could take him with ease. Her small body hid a lot of force, and she was much faster and more flexible than he could ever dream of becoming. He couldn't help being impressed. And in all honestly, he couldn't help noticing that she looked pretty damn hot. Her white top was snug against her lean torso, hints of nipples showing behind the fabric. The low fit of her training pants revealed a taut belly and a slim waist, and golden hair flew around her with her movements.  
  
"Shift your weight onto your right leg as you hit to counterbalance your body during the blow." Her arm muscles flexed and shifted under sweaty skin when her fists hit the sandbag.  
  
Yeah, she sure as hell was a gorgeous.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy's voice pulled him out of his admiring thoughts. "This is the part where you punch the bag."  
  
"Uh, sure." His fist hit the heavy object.  
  
Buffy caught the sandbag. "Good, but keep your wrist straight. Otherwise you might hurt yourself."  
  
"I'll remember that," he said, shaking his glove-covered fists.  
  
"I think we'll call it a day," Buffy said, puffing a little. As she pulled off her gloves and started removing the wraps, she looked up at Spike, smiling. "You're pretty good for a beginner."  
  
"Yeah, I kick ass, huh?" Spike grinned.  
  
"You're ok." She pushed the bag back in his direction. He stumbled a little when he caught it. "But you're not exactly a Jedi yet."  
  
Spike chuckled. "Well then, Yoda," he said and let go of the bag. "I guess you have some more work to do."  
  
Buffy smiled. "Listen, is it ok if we drop by at my mom's on the way home? I thought I should give her the schedule for the competition."  
  
"Sure. But perhaps I should shower first?"  
  
"Mom?" Buffy called as she opened the front door.  
  
Spike followed behind her, looking around with his hands in his pockets. The house had a really grownup style and smelled all clean and flowery. Not his style, but really homey and cozy. Reminded him a lot of his mother's house.  
  
"Decided to grace you poor mother with a visit?" a voice said from the kitchen. Soon a blonde, middle-aged woman came out into the hallway, holding a dishtowel. "Oh, we're having guests?" she asked when she spotted Spike in the doorway.  
  
"Hi," he answered, looking a bit awkward.  
  
"Please come in," she said. After Spike stepped into the hallway and closed the door, she smiled at him. "I'm Joyce".  
  
"Spike," he said, shaking the hand she reached out to him.  
  
"Spike?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual."  
  
"Actually it's... William." He put his hand back in his pocket.  
  
"That's a lovely name."  
  
"Really?" Spike smiled.  
  
Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening on the second floor and a cheerful voice echoed down the stairs. "Mom, have you seen my calculator? I'm going to Janice's to study." Dawn skipped down the stairs, but stopped in her tracks when she saw Spike. An expression of teenage admiration spread over her face.  
  
Buffy looked at her sister and sighed. "Dawn, this is Spike."  
  
She skipped down the remaining steps and walked up to Spike with a big grin plastered on her lips. "Hi!" she chirped.  
  
"Hi there, bit," he said with a friendly smile.  
  
Dawn tilted her head a little. "Are you Buffy's boyfriend or something?"  
  
"Dawn!" Buffy yelped.  
  
Spike tossed her a mischievous grin. "Don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that."  
  
Dawn's eyes widened. "You're gay?"  
  
"Bi."  
  
"Cool." She paused. "What's that like?"  
  
"Dawn!" both Joyce and Buffy shouted in chorus.  
  
"Excuse my youngest daughter," Joyce said, throwing Dawn a glance. "She can be quite frank sometimes."  
  
"No problem," Spike answered. "I like frank people."  
  
"See, he likes me!" Dawn said triumphantly.  
  
Joyce sighed, smiling a little. "So, would you two like some coffee?" she asked, glancing over at Buffy and Spike. "I was just making some."  
  
They looked at each other. "Yeah, sure," Buffy said.  
  
When they entered the kitchen Spike noticed a few pictures and some invoices strewn on the table. Spike raised an eyebrow when he noticed the logo on one of the papers. "Calendar Galleries?"  
  
"The museum bought a Patricia Arribalzaga through Calendar Galleries last month," she said, looking curious about the fact that somebody who called himself "Spike" knew something about galleries.  
  
"It's my mum's place." He picked up the picture of the painting. "She showed me this one, I think."  
  
"Your mother is Jenny Calendar?"  
  
"Yeah. Don't get any expectations, though. I don't know anythin' about this art stuff. Kind of over my head, you know." He fiddled a little with the picture and put it back at the table. "So, you work at a museum?"  
  
"Yes, I'm the curator at The Museum of Contemporary Art." She went over to the sink and poured water and coffee into the brewer. There was a click, then a whooshing sound as the coffee started brewing.  
  
"Yeah, she's totally the boss," Dawn commented, still watching Spike with dreamy eyes.  
  
Suddenly a muffled ringing noise sounded from underneath the layer of papers on the table. Joyce put her hand into the mess and pulled out a small cell phone. With an apologetic expression, she answered it and walked out into the hallway to continue her conversation.  
  
Buffy pulled out one of the chairs and sat down at the table, motioning for Spike to do the same. "This may take a while. It's probably some of the usual museum crisis stuff. She gets a lot of those." Buffy smiled.  
  
Dawn walked up to the table and sat down in a chair next to Spike. "Kind of weird, since it's just a big house filled of dead objects. I mean, it's not like they can break loose and make a run for it or anything."  
  
"Dunno, nibblet." He smiled at her. "I've seen a few art installations at my mum's gallery that probably could wreak some havoc if unmonitored. Like that crazy movin' engine-thingy with all the dildos on it that she exhibited last month."  
  
Buffy looked at him, crossing her arms. "Spike! No talking to my little sister about... engines."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'm fifteen, I know what a dildo is." She slouched a little in her chair. "I think."  
  
Spike grinned. "You see, nibblet, a dildo is..."  
  
Buffy glared at him. "Spike!"  
  
He lifted his hands in the air. "Sorry, I'll be good."  
  
The talking in the hallway stopped, and Joyce re-entered the kitchen, sighing. "It seems like I have to get back to the museum. There are some problems with a shipment." She looked at Dawn. "I'll drop you off at Janice's on the way."  
  
Reluctantly, Dawn got up from the table.  
  
"Why don't you two drink your coffee before you leave." Joyce picked up the car keys from the counter. "Just lock up when you leave."  
  
"Sure, mom," Buffy answered. "Good luck with the art stuff. And, oh, I almost forgot. I brought the schedule for the competition. I'll leave it on the table when I go."  
  
"Great." Joyce looked over at Spike. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Do say hi to you mother for me, will you?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Dawn smiled at Spike. "Yeah, nice meeting you. You know, if you wanna come over again, that would be ok."  
  
Joyce sighed and tugged at Dawn's sleeve. "Let's go. The homework is waiting."  
  
Dawn waved her hand, then disappeared into the hallway. When the door slammed shut, Buffy leaned back in her chair and chuckled a little. "I think you have gotten yourself a couple of fans."  
  
Spike grinned and leaned closer. "Jealous?"  
  
"Oh, phu-leease, get over yourself." She got up from the table, shaking her head. "Milk or sugar?" she asked as she poured the coffee.  
  
"Nah. Black's just fine."  
  
Buffy placed their cups on the table and sat back down. "I like your family," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "They seem nice. Except for that pod person dad, of course."  
  
"Yep. The Summers women actually even make up for their unpleasant male counterpart." She blew on her steaming coffee.  
  
"He's that bad?"  
  
"Well, he's one of those stereotypical absent parents." Her face started to get a sad expression. "Left us for some 20-year-old when we were kids. He drinks too much, throws money around though he's practically broke, and he always forgets our birthdays. We had this disastrous dinner at his place yesterday. Dawn was really hurt."  
  
Spike studied her face. "I'm sorry."  
  
She looked down into her coffee. "There's a lot of people who get beaten and abused and stuff, so I guess it's not that bad."  
  
"It's not like there's a misery quota."  
  
"I guess." She absentmindedly fiddled with a pencil that was partly buried in between the papers on the table.  
  
Spike felt something soften inside of him. Buffy was sad. He didn't like that. "You know what?" He threw his arm casually around her shoulders. "It's his loss."  
  
She smiled a little. When she leaned her head briefly against his shoulder Spike felt something fuzzy stirring in his gut. This didn't feel too bad. The blond hair that cascaded over his chest, the vague scent of her flowery soap tickling his nose, her muscular body leaning against him...  
  
He cleared his throat and sat up in his chair. Buffy removed her head, and he exhaled inaudibly. "Think your coffee's getting cold." His voice sounded a bit strained.  
  
"Yeah," she said with a faint blush on her cheeks. 


	8. Love and Kisses

Spike really liked working at Seven. Not that he fancied the music, but the atmosphere was intense, and working at a club meant not having to get up early in the morning, which probably was a good thing for all living creatures within a 3-mile radius. Of course it was also a great place to pick up chicks. You gave them a sexy smile with their drinks, tossed them a few compliments, and they often were more than willing to wait until his shift ended for some extracurricular activities. That was before Angel, of course, but his supernatural force of seduction was still useful for bringing him big tips. No use in wasting a god-given talent.

Musically speaking, this was a significantly better night than usual. Once in a while, Seven had theme events and his ears got some rest from annoying one-hit-wonder club songs. Of course, the theme events could result in some really horrible genres, like that semi-ironic country night a month ago when people got half off the cover charge if they wore a cowboy hat. Bloody tragic. But tonight they had a rock theme; good rock too, not that new crap like Linkin Park and P.O.D. He closed his eyes and nodded his head to the music. "I love this song!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Xander grimaced. "This isn't music, this is loud sounds, sinisterly arranged for maximum annoyance." He had to shout to be heard over the seemingly endless riffs. "What it this anyway? Sounds like Celine Dion on speed."

"No blasphemies in the presence of AC/DC!" Spike replied, only half joking.

Xander just shook his head and got back to taking orders.

Spike's eyes turned to one of the eager customers at the other side of the counter. "Martini," the man said with a faint slur. Spike nodded and reached for a bottle. As he stretched out his arm, he made a sudden involuntary grimace.

"Hey there, better take it easy with the clubbing in the future." Xander said, somewhat amused when he spotted Spike's predicament.

"I'm guessin' it's more of a boxin'-related problem," Spike said as he started pouring the drink.

"Huh?"

"Buffy started teachin' me boxin', today," he said matter-of-factly.

"Weren't macho enough, huh?" Xander looked a bit grumpy. Of course Spike was going to start boxing. Like Xander wasn't feeling enough like Jimmy Olsen already when Spike was around. His recent gay-related humiliation didn't help either. On the other hand, Spike's man on man action always made him seem cooler for some reason. Great. Just great.

"There's no such thing as 'macho enough'," Spike said with a smirk.

When he turned to get the shaker, he suddenly heard a familiar voice behind him. "Sex on the beach, please."

Spike's heart jumped in his chest, and he turned around. "Hello Angel," he said in a low voice. Angel watched him with a look that would steam up windows if there had been any around. Spike replied with a sexy grin. "What do you know, Liam at Seven?"

Spike saw Xander in the corner of his eye, frowning at Angel's presence, but had no intention of acknowledging it.

"What, I can't go to clubs?" Liam leaned on the counter, trying to look casual but failing miserably.

Spike wasn't sure if it was the shirt, the posture, or the way he talked, but Angel seemed completely out of place. He was the kind of guy who could be standing in the middle of an amusement park, dressed up as a mime, and still look like a lawyer. Must be the aura or some other New Age crap. "Well, you can, you just don't," Spike chuckled. "You better watch out, or the middle-class filth might rub off on you."

Angel snorted. "I'll live." He paused and leaned closer. "I was bored and thought I should check in on you."

Spike grunted a little. "Gee, thanks, dad, but don't worry. All the kids here are nice, and I'm stayin' out of trouble."

Angel's smile faded a little. "Just wanted to see you. Is that a problem?"

"No. Definitely not." He wanted to kiss Angel really badly. Not that Angel would let him, of course. Not here. In fact, even showing up here and talking to him was a surprisingly indiscreet action for Angel.

Something flickered in Angel's gaze. "Got a break soon?" His voice suddenly sounded smoother.

"Actually I haven't had one all night." Spike tilted his head curiously.

"Well, then, it's about time." Angel threw Spike a glance and started walking towards the back of the club, his eyes scanning the area.

Spike quickly served the drink and followed Angel like an obedient little puppy. When Angel headed towards a door marked staff only, Spike walked up to his side. "Where are we goin'?"

Angel didn't answer; instead he opened the door and pulled Spike into the short hallway on the other side. As his back hit the wall and Angel's tongue slipped into his mouth, Spike's brain instantly turned all frayed and fuzzy. It was always like this when they kissed. The taste, the texture of their tongues sliding together, the way Angel's body felt pressed against his, the way Angel smelled; the synergy of the experience was just plain heady.

In Spike's current state, it took him a couple of minutes to become vaguely aware of some sounds coming from the office at the end of the hallway. Before he knew what was happening, Angel had pushed him through a door right next to them and he found himself tumbling into a dark supply closet. Angel quickly closed the door and pulled away slightly, leaving an arm resting firmly on Spike shoulder from behind as if to tell him to keep calm. It didn't take long before Spike heard a door opening and the voices of his boss and some other guy leaving the office.

Through the fog of his horny mind, he noticed to his discontent that the men had stopped in the hallway while continuing their conversation and flipping through papers. Spike sighed. His mum and pretty much all the rest of the family had this little habit. They said goodbye, then stood in the entryway talking for an hour before finally leaving. And he didn't really feel like standing silently among straws and napkins for the rest of his shift.

Suddenly, he heard the faint sounds of Angel moving behind him, and felt his hot breath hitting his ear. "Seems like we have a little problem here," Angel whispered, leaning up tightly against Spike's back.

"Oh yeah?" Spike whispered back. The lingering arousal from their kiss started growing again, making him feeling all hot and bothered. He was trapped in a small space with his hunky and horny boyfriend, risking being caught at any time. Yeah, this was fucking hot.

"But then again, I'm sure I could help you to pass the time." Angel pushed Spike slightly forward, careful not to cause any noise. When Spike placed his hands on the wall in front of him, Angel reached for his fly.

A very small part of Spike's increasingly foggy brain tried to alert him to the risk of what was going on, causing him to protest weakly. "I could get fired, you know," he whispered, more as a fact than an objection.

Angel's hand suddenly covered his mouth. "Yeah, you might, if you don't keep quiet."

Spike felt a rush of air as his pants slid to the floor, and heard Angel quickly undoing his own pants with his free hand. Spike's body was flushed with the sensations of a chill and an intensely heated feeling all wrapped into one. As his gut started stirring confusedly, he closed his eyes. He heard Angel reaching for a tube on a shelf next to him. The faint scent of hand lotion hit him only moments before he felt the head of Angel's slick cock pushing hard against his pucker. Before Spike could brace himself Angel pushed his rock-hard cock deep into his body, making him stiffen from the initial pain. Suddenly Angel removed his hand. "There, Spike," he said, kissing his neck. "Don't worry, I'll make it all better."

Without hesitation Angel started fucking him with long, hard strokes, his balls thumping against Spike's ass and upper thighs. The pain immediately faded as he was overtaken by pleasure. Behind him, he could hear the faint but controlled sounds of Angel's rapid breaths. Though Angel was a passionate lover, he always had complete control. He never came before he chose to, never made a sound that was purely spontaneous, never got lost in the moment. He also always had complete control over Spike. Angel often made an intricate art of teasing him until he begged for mercy. This time, though, there was no teasing involved. He hit Spike's prostate every time in that forceful manner that usually made him moan and writhe and holler. Spike felt the rugged surface of the wall pressing hard against his forehead as he tried his best not to alert the men at the other side of the door to their presence. Self-discipline wasn't Spike's strong suit, and when he fucked he didn't hold back anything. Struggling with his reactions, he gripped the end of the shelf next to him and choked back a moan. It felt so good, so very good. As a small gasp slipped from his lips, he heard Angel's strained whispering voice behind him. "Better watch it. You don't want your boss to find you in his supply closet, getting fucked like little bitch, huh? What do you think he would say if he saw you taking it up your queer, lily-white ass," he hissed, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Spike swallowed and gripped the shelf even harder, feeling somewhat groggy, a knot forming in his stomach.

The muffled sounds of 'I Wanna Be Sedated' thundered through the thin walls, making him feel like he was in one of those music videos that MTV only broadcast after ten PM. Inevitably, his orgasm approached, and it felt like a big one. As Angel shuddered and drove into his body fiercely, he felt his ass fill with streams of creamy fluid. It was all it took to push him over the edge. He bit his lip hard, which probably would have hurt if his attention weren't otherwise engaged, and his throat tightened in a desperate attempt to hold back the soundtrack. Spike's entire body stiffened as he finally came. He slumped forward, letting his limp and sweaty body fall against the wall in front of him. Angel's frame rested heavily against his back, and he could feel Angel's chest rising and falling rapidly through the fabric that separated them.

Suddenly, Spike felt Angel pull away, and moments later there was a creaking sound, and suddenly the supply closet was flooded with light. "Angel!" Spike hissed, squinting against the fluorescent light in the hallway, but Angel just raised an eyebrow and held the door open, revealing that the men had left sometime during their fornication. Angel had managed to pull up his pants, and looked mysteriously fresh and composed, without even a spot of spunk on his wrinkle-free clothes. He looked at Spike in silence, crossing his arms. "Well, are you going to put you clothes back on, or are you going to stand there all night with your white-painted ass in the air?" Spike's eyes darted away. He reached for some napkins and started wiping the come that was running from his aching ass.

"When do you get off work?"

"Um... in an hour," Spike said, still short of breath.

"I'll drive you home," Angel said before walking off.

Spike heard the music suddenly flooding the short corridor before the door closed again. He closed his eyes for a moment, then started pulling up his pants with shaky hands.

When Spike walked back into the club, the music and the talking sounded louder than usual. He immediately noticed that Angel was seated at a small table close to the bar. He returned to his post behind the counter; Xander looked at him with badly hidden irritation. "Ehm... so, how was your break?" he asked after a while.

Spike glared at him. "Don't start with your bloody hate-Angel crap!" he snapped, surprised at how angry he sounded.

"Right," Xander said, backing away a little. "I'll be over here."

Spike's jaws twitched as he got back to mixing drinks in silence.

For the remainder of the night, he could feel Angel's eyes on him. Spike stirred, shook and blended, but his thoughts were of Angel. As the clock started closing in on two, he wiped his liquor-stained hands on his pants and turned to Xander. "Time to get the fuck out of here," he said.

"Good for you," Xander replied. "I'm stuck here with Deep Purple & Co for the rest of the night." He grimaced. "My mind is hurting."

"I'm sure it's just your brain gettin' rid of all the crap music you've been fillin' it with for years," Spike chuckled.

"Nothing wrong with crap music," a voice said from behind Spike.

"Really, Joan? Spike asked, turning to the skinny, blonde co-worker at his side.

"Yeah, sometimes there's nothing better than putting on Britney Spears and cranking up the volume." She smiled and put her hands on her hips. "It really clears your mind. Like valium but without the nasty chemicals."

"Well, I don't know if that's any better than chemicals. If anythin' would put me in a coma, Britney would," Spike said, smiling. "Anyway, I have to go now. I've got a boyfriend waitin'."

Joan sighed. "You're lucky. All I've got waiting for me when I come home is my goldfish and my Brad Pitt DVD collection. Not that Brad isn't nice and all, but plastic cases aren't all that cuddly in the middle of the night." She shook her head and chuckled.

Spike smiled and waved goodbye to Joan and Xander before heading to Angel's table. Right away, when he met Angel's eyes, he knew he was in trouble. "Hi Angel," he said with his sexiest smile, trying to improve Angel's mood. Angel didn't answer. Instead he just looked at Spike coldly and walked past him towards the exit. Angel had a real talent when it came to looks and glares. He was able to communicate more with a single gaze than most people could with half a monologue.

They walked in silence down the stairs, through the first floor and past the stereotypical bouncer and out to the wet and dark parking lot.

When they finally walked up to Angel's Lexus, Angel suddenly grabbed Spike's collar, leaning up close enough to project small, aggravated drops of spit when he started talking. "Do you fuck her?!"

"What?" Spike stared at him, confused.

"That blonde girl! Do you fuck her?!"

"Jesus Christ, Angel! No!" Spike grabbed Angel's hands and tried to pull them off him, but Angel wasn't budging.

"It looked like you were really friendly!" Angel leaned even closer, pushing Spike's back against the damp car.

"She's just my co-worker! I swear, Angel, I would never do somethin' like that!" Spike felt a twinge of guilt as he suddenly was reminded of the feelings that had fluttered through him during the conversation with Buffy earlier that day. It wasn't really a big deal. Feeling attracted to beautiful people was after all just human nature. But seeing the dark jealous look in Angel's eyes, he couldn't help feeling like his conscience was tainted, that Angel wasn't completely off. As his body went slightly limp under Angel's furious grip, Angel suddenly let go of his shirt. Spike fell back onto the hood with a thump. "You'd better not," he said in a voice that made Spike shiver. Angel leaned over him for a long, uncomfortable moment before pulling away and getting into the car, slamming the door shut with the trademark sound that only really expensive cars doors made. Spike stared at Angel through the window, then pulled himself up slowly and got into the passenger seat.

"Angel, I love you," he said desperately. "I haven't cheated on you, and I never will." Spike snaked his arms around Angel's neck and leaned his forehead against Angel's, closing his eyes. "I love you," he whispered.

After a moment, he felt Angel's arms around him, and his lips meeting Spike's in a soft kiss. "Good," Angel said. They stayed like that for several minutes before Angel finally spoke again. "I know I can go a bit crazy sometimes," he said quietly. "I just want to make sure that it's you and me."

"I'm yours," Spike said, pulling him closer, anxious to feel Angel body against his, to feel his smell. The knot in his belly was there again.

"Yeah," Angel answered, pulling him in for another kiss. "Mine."

_Five months ago_

Spike raised an eyebrow as he looked up at the house in front of him. This was one of those places that people lived in who wouldn't touch him with a forty-foot pole covered in antiseptic fluids. If a building could be considered a stuck-up bitch, this one was a clear candidate. It was designed in that übermodern style that made people who knew about this stuff go 'ooh' and 'aah' and made everyone else feel just plain stupid. It was made mostly of tinted glass, and had straight, asymmetrical lines that probably were supposed to create some fancy balance. Spike snorted when he noticed that some of the well-dressed passers-by looked at him with mild contempt. "Well, bugger them," he said to himself and walked to the front door. When he stepped into the cool and unnaturally silent foyer, he stopped for a moment, feeling out of place. He shoved his hands into his duster pockets.

"Excuse me?" a voice said from his right. When he turned he found that a receptionist with one of those painfully tight buns in her hair was looking at him questioningly. "Are you visiting someone in the building?" she asked, only barely visible behind the mastodon-like counter. She sounded highly skeptical.

"Well, yeah," he leaned over to read her nametag. "Naomi. Nice name. Just like the supermodel." He smiled broadly.

She rolled her eyes, "Well, Mr...?"

"Spike," he said, picking up a squared paper weight/sculpture/rodent smacker thingy from the counter and fiddling with it.

"Mr... Spike," she said with a cold smile, pulling the cube out of his hands. "Like I said, do you have any business here?"

"Yeah. Visitin' Angel. Um... Liam."

"Oh!" Suddenly she looked friendlier. "You're William? Your cousin said you would be coming by today. Sorry for the misunderstanding."

Spike didn't have the time to object before she continued. "Just take the elevator to the eleventh floor."

"Um... thanks," he said, scampering off to the metal doors at the back of the room with a confused look on his face. Eleven floors later he found himself standing in a long hallway. As he started walking along the corridor, he soon found his way to Angel's apartment. "And behind door C we find a hot sexy boyfriend, and a year's supply of shaggin'," he said before ringing the doorbell.

There were sounds of footsteps, then the door opened, revealing a smiling Angel. "Well, hello there, baby." He held the door open with one hand and placed the other in the pocket of his probably very expensive suit. Spike had a boyfriend who wore suits. How fucking bizarre was that? He would sooner have imagined Xander becoming a figure skater, Willow buying a Harley Davidson. Or Clem showering.

"You look great," Angel said, shamelessly checking him out.

"What can I say, I'm a real catch," he replied. Angel answered by leaning in, kissing him softly.

When they pulled apart, Spike narrowed his eyes playfully. "Are you this friendly with all your relatives?" he asked dryly.

Angel grimaced and motioned for him to come in. "I'm sorry about that." He closed the door and took Spike's duster. Now Spike took his first look at Angel's apartment. It looked like a set on The Bold and the Beautiful. Fancy furniture, perfectly combined colors, expensive-looking vases and stuff. When he turned to comment on it, Angel's apologetic eyes met his. "I just have to be careful," he said, touching Spike's cheek. "In my world, being gay isn't accepted."

Spike crossed his arms. "What, so you just pretend you like pussy to make people like you?"

"It's my private life. It's not anybody else's business." His thumb caressed Spike's jaw line lightly, making Spike unconsciously leaning into his touch. "Besides," Angel said, kissing him again. "I kind of like the idea of having you to myself." Spike returned the kiss, letting their tongues play against each other for a brief moment. "Time to eat, my love," Angel whispered against his lips. Taking Spike's hand, he led him into the kitchen.

Spike stopped at the threshold. "Wow," he said.

"Do you like it?" Angel asked, touching the small of Spike's back with his fingertips.

"Well, yeah." Spike was speechless. The kitchen was illuminated by at least a couple of dozen candles, and the table was beautifully set with flowers and everything. In the background he heard subtle jazz music at a low volume. Spike felt overwhelmed. Nobody had ever done something like this for him before.

"Let's eat," Angel said with a smile. Spike sat down at the table as Angel started serving the food.

Spike looked down at the dish in front of him. "Um... stew?

"Boeuf Bourguignonne." Angel poured the wine and took his seat opposite Spike. "You'll like it."

The warm flickering light painted Angel's face a golden shade. Spike couldn't help but think that it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Men really weren't supposed to think of each other as beautiful, but he couldn't help himself; he was lost in the moment.

"I'm so glad you're here," Angel said, taking Spike's hand in his. "You're really important to me, you know," he whispered, holding Spike's gaze.

Spike felt all warm and fuzzy. "Yeah. If you didn't have me, who would you use as your 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire' phone reference for those pesky punk rock and Monty Python questions, eh?"

"No, I just love you."

Spike smiled. "Another good reason." This was so bloody weird. Candles, jazz, food he couldn't pronounce, and Hallmark card dialogue. But he sure as hell wasn't complaining. In fact, he was almost giddy.

"Well, why don't you try out the food?" Angel's voice pierced through Spike's evaluating thoughts.

Spike stabbed the meat with his fork and put it in his mouth. The moment he started chewing he moaned a little and closed his eyes. "This is fucking great!"

"Well, I gotta have some redeeming features to make up for my lack of knowledge of punk rock and Monty Python."

"Maybe we could do an exchange. I can lie on a divan with my guitar and do a musical interpretation of 'Life of Brian' while you feed me." He chuckled and shoved another piece of meat into his mouth.

Angel started eating, still watching Spike. "I have made plans for us for this weekend," he said after a while.

"Really?" Spike said. "Do they involve lube?"

Angel chuckled. "Partly. I've made reservations at an inn just outside Miami for the weekend. It's my favorite place in the world. I can't wait to show it to you."

"Um... Wow." Spike looked up. He didn't see that one coming. "Sounds great, but I'm workin'."

"I know, I've got you schedule. But don't, worry, I talked to your boss."

Spike furrowed his brow. "You talked to my boss?"

"I said I was your uncle and that you needed some time off to visit your sick grandmother." Angel grinned mischievously. "He was very understanding."

"My, you're a real doer aren't you?" Spike raised an eyebrow. "How do you know my schedule, by the way?"

Angel took a sip of his wine. "I wrote it down from the note on your fridge when I was over at your place a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh?" Spike blinked. "Well, Miami sounds great." He paused. "But... I have this thing."

"Thing?"

Spike put the fork down on the plate. "Yeah, with Xander. Fishin'. It's kind of a tradition, we do it every Fourth of July."

"You? Fishing?"

"Well... It's more about buddy bondin' than fish."

Angel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "You seem to like this... Xander person a lot."

"Well, he's my friend, and..." his eyes widened. "Oh! Fuck no, it's not like that! Xander's straight!"

"So were you," Angel said shortly.

"Yeah, but..." Spike winced. "Dammit, now you gave me all these disturbin' images! Xander in my bed, wearin' a leopard-print thong! Thanks a lot, Angel. Now I have to wash my brain with bleach!" Spike shook his head, looking both amused and horrified.

"Well, you spend a lot of time with him. More than with me." Angel wasn't pleased.

"I guess I can cancel," Spike said with a smile, leaning over the table to take Angel's hand. "Miami sounds great."

Angel smiled back, giving him a short kiss. "Perfect," he said. "Now, why don't you finish your meal? I have plans for the night, and they definitely involve lube."

Spike tilted his head, grinning. "Well, that's my favorite kind of plans."


	9. Parental Units

The talking, thumps, and indistinct equipment noises around her were the kind of sharp and annoying sounds that only could be heard in large public places. The hall was scattered with muscular, glove-wearing women and adrenaline-high trainers. Spoken and unspoken words about victory, failure and competitiveness fluttered through the sweat-smelling air. The competition had been going on for a couple of hours, and the spectator seats were starting to get pretty crowded. Considering that it was a women's competition, it had drawn quite an audience. At regular intervals, the clapping and cheers that accompanied the matches replaced the dull chatter.

Buffy had gone through two qualifying rounds. She had started boxing against a pale girl with big nervous eyes. Buffy almost felt guilty for knocking her out. The other one was a big, bad-ass firefighter, but she wasn't much of a challenge. What the woman possessed in strength she lacked in speed and flexibility. Her trainer had looked furious afterwards, and glove-throwing and ear-searing curses followed the shameful defeat. Buffy had just smiled to herself. It wasn't her fault that she was a natural born winner, was it? That had been an hour ago, and soon she was about to meet some real competition. She shook her fists in an attempt to get rid of the tingle that sizzled all though her body and made her feel like carbonated Buffy goodness. Of course she was nervous, but there were other feelings involved too. She tightened her fist a little more when the brown-haired bitch popped into her mind. Oh, she would show her Buffy goodness, all right! The kick-ass flavored kind!

"Buffy!" a voice said through the scattered noise.

She turned and smiled and walked up to the spectator seats at the side of the hall. "Enjoying yourselves?" she asked Joyce and Dawn through the noise.

"Yeah, this is so cool!" Dawn said, smiling. "There's even blood and stuff! And you, like, almost put that girl with braids in a coma!" Dawn's eyes glittered.

Buffy looked back at Dawn uncomfortably. "You'll grow up to be a very disturbed adult. Possibly a gym teacher."

Joyce looked at her daughters, her brow furrowed. "God, how I wish you were both still at that age when you thought about things like cookies and kittens."

"Well, too late for that now. You should have locked us up in cages in the backyard to keep us from bad influences while you still had the chance," Buffy answered.

Joyce just smiled, rubbing Dawn's hair. "How about a couple of those electronic foot shackles, then?"

Before Buffy could continue, she heard a slurring voice. "My little darling. How is it going? Are you..." the man paused as if he was trying to remember how to speak English. "...knocking them all out?" The air suddenly got thick in their little area of the room as three pairs of eyes turned to Hank, who was slouching against the doorway a few yards away. He was wearing a proper suit as usual, but his sloppily tied tie gave him away.

"Dad?" Buffy asked nervously, dropping her hands to her sides. "What are you doing here?"

"What?" he said a little to loud. "I read in the paper about this... competition thing, and that you were going to attend." He walked somewhat unsteadily into the hall. "I'm your father. Why...?" He stumbled a little, briefly loosing his train of though "Why shouldn't I be here?" he continued after a moment. The musty smell of alcohol wasn't hard to detect. Neither was his foggy gaze.

Buffy crossed her arms tightly, breathing faster now. "You hate boxing," she stated. "Not a lady's sport, remember."

"Well, no," he said, walking up to her. "But..." he blinked. "But you keep insisting, so I'm being supprot... supportive." To punctuate that last statement he threw his arm around her shoulders, pulling her roughly into his booze-drenched embrace.

"Hank!" she said, distressed, trying to push him away. "You're drunk!

"Am I Hank now?" he asked, pulling her even closer. "I'm you father!" He stressed the syllables of the last word with unnecessary force.

"Get off me!" Buffy grunted, finally succeeding to push him away. Hank stumbled to the floor, causing a group of chatting women to scatter to avoid getting hit by his assaulting ass. The discreet looks from the other people in the hall now escalated into blatant glares.

Suddenly, Buffy heard sharp sobs coming from the father-bundle at the floor. "I'm you father," he repeated quietly between the sobs. Buffy took a step back, feeling her gut twisting.

"Hank." Joyce's forceful but calm voice made Buffy turn her head to the spectator benches. Joyce was looking at her with compassion and Dawn stared down at the scene with distress.

"I'm her... her father."

"I know," Joyce said as she walked down from the spectator seats. "But you should leave now."

"I just wanted to... I... I just..." Hank's face was red and wet.

"I have to go. I've got a match." Buffy took a sharp breath and turned, walking away quickly.

"I love you, sweetie," Hank shouted after her, his voice cracking.

"Yeah, whatever," Buffy said quietly to herself. She tightened her jaw and looked to the floor. All the sounds around her seemed loud and annoying. She heard Hank's slurs behind her mixing with Joyce's soft voice as they moved to the exit. There were scattered whispers from the people she passed, but she didn't care. She really didn't care.

"Buffy?" She lifted her gaze at the sound of her trainer's voice. "Are you ok?" The big middle-aged woman managed to convey some emotions from her otherwise dry, motionless face.

"Fine. Just fine," she said resolutely, clenching her jaw. She picked up her gloves, which lay on the training bag. "Show me what to hurt."

"I think you mean 'show me what to miss'."

Buffy turned and looked at Faith in cold silence.

"You don't get points for glares, B, just for punches," Faith said, crossing her arms.

Buffy just put on her gloves and walked up to the ring with determined steps. Behind her, Faith followed with a cocky smile on her lips.

"Next match: Faith and Buffy." The commentator's voice crackled through the thick tension that resided between the raised fists in the middle of the ring. The two women's excited breaths battled in an almost perfect rhythm. Cheering voices surrounded them like an ambient sound blanket. Buffy felt numb, and her head was buzzing with emotions. She could vividly feel her muscles flexing, her fists clenching, her feet moving on the floor.

As soon as the bell rang they started their little violent dance, moving quickly around each other while keeping their fists ready for attack. Faith smiled and narrowed her eyes. "Well, B, Let's see some of that hurtin'. Or is poor little goldielocks afraid to break a nail?"

All the anger that she was carrying suddenly exploded inside of her. The air whooshed as her fist flashed. A second later Faith was lying on the floor with the referee hovering over her, counting. Faith moaned and moved slightly while partly opening her eyes. After the count of ten, the referee grabbed Buffy's arm and raised it in the air. She faintly noticed the sounds of clapping from the audience through the feelings that suddenly coursed through her body. The moment he let go, she pushed up the ropes and stepped out of the ring.

Spike sighed with relief when he finally spotted the hall from the road. Angel had spoken with him on the phone for an hour, apologizing for his parking lot rage. Not that the flowers he had sent that morning didn't send the message, but it still felt good. However, Spike had ended up being more than a little late for Buffy's big competition. And of course he couldn't find the bloody place either. Who had gotten the idea to place a sports center in the middle of some semi-industrial area anyway? Stepping out of his Desoto, he hurried to the main entrance, passing a few stressed trainers smoking outside. He walked through a short hallway. The smell of sweat and the sounds of a talking crowd hit him as he pushed open the double doors to the hall. He looked around, trying to spot Buffy, but without any luck.

"Spike!" Willow's cheerful voice made him turn to the spectator seats.

Spike smiled and headed their way, stepping over rows of benches and steering around fellow spectators. "How's she doin'?" he said as he sat down next to Willow and company.

"Great!" Anya said. "She's like a hurricane of violence. Like the Terminator but without the accent."

"Good. And you are?"

"Anya. Buffy's friend."

He reached out and shook her hand. "Spike. Um... Also friend."

"Sex friend?" she chirped.

Spike grinned. "Yeah. Just not Buffy's."

Willow looked embarrassed. "He's our co-worker at Seven," she said to Anya. Then she turned to Spike again, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Anya's not big on tact."

"Hey!" Anya said, looking offended for a good two seconds before shrugging. "Well, true."

Spike looked over at the blonde girl next to Willow, flipping through his long-term memory. "You're Tara, right?"

Tara nodded shyly. "We met at Xander's party a while ago. If... If you remember that evening."

Spike chuckled. The end of that party had pretty much been a blur, but Xander had told him that he had been ridiculously drunk and had streaked through the yard with someone's panties on his head, scaring the über-religious neighbor half to death. But he did remember that he had complemented Tara for some great blueberry muffins she had brought. Unfortunately he also vaguely remembered staring down at the same blueberry muffins in the toilet, after the booze had finally caused him to expel his stomach contents. He had never really been a muffin fan after that.

Spike smiled to himself and leaned back in his seat. When he once again looked around to see if Buffy was around, he suddenly noticed another Summers girl heading their way. In sharp contrast to her earlier cheerfulness, Dawn had an aura of that special kind of super-existential sadness that only teenagers fully could express. Her shoulders were slouched, her lips were pouting, and her steps were heavy and slow as she stepped over the rows of seats while slipping a cell phone into her purse.

Before Spike could ask what had happened, he heard Willow's concerned voice. "What did she say?"

Dawn slumped down in the seat next to Spike. "She said that she brought him home, put him to bed, and scolded him."

"Good," Willow answered, crossing her arms. "He could use a good finger pointing session."

"Um... did somethin' happen?" Spike asked tentatively.

"No. Nothing," Dawn said without looking at him. "Just my disturbed dad doing a surprise guest appearance during the intermission."

"Sounds like there weren't any pompoms involved?" Spike winced a little at his own comment.

"No, just drunken acrobatics."

Spike couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. Dealing with teenage angst wasn't in his regular repertoire. What the fuck did you say in this situation anyway? "Bummer," he exclaimed.

"Dawnie," Tara said, leaning over to try to catch her gaze. "I'm sure he didn't mean to make a mess. I mean..." She hesitated a little. "Seems like he's at least trying to do the dad thing," she said softly.

"That's the thing!" Dawn said, suddenly bursting out of her apathic state. She sat up and stared at Tara with furious eyes. "He's trying to do the dad thing with _Buffy_! I'm just... Buffy part 2!" She clenched her fists. "And sequels suck!"

"No they don't! There's Aliens, the Lord of the Rings trilogy..." Anya commented. "Oh! You're Buffy Summers: The Next Generation - like the original, but with less weirdness."

Willow just shook her head and turned back to Dawn. "He's the one who's wrong, not you," she said.

Spike threw an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, he sounds like a bloody wanker. He should fuck off, if you ask me." When Willow cleared his throat he continued. "Um... I mean,

he should be ashamed."

"I guess," Dawn said, looking a little bit less sad.

"Well then, that's settled," Spike said, patting her on the shoulder before pulling back. "He's a shit, and you shouldn't mope."

"Hey," she said with a somewhat flirty smile. "No need to remove the arm."

"Sorry bit, the arm has served its purpose," Spike said, chuckling.

As Spike turned his eyes to the floor again he spotted Buffy coming out of a door at the side of the hall. She looked primed and her gaze expressed complete focus. An Asian girl followed, radiating a similar air of concentration. They climbed in through the ropes and quickly took their respective positions, staring into each other's eyes with looks that meant business. Spike unconsciously leaned forward in his seat, feeling that good old sports-related adrenalin rising. But he didn't just want to watch a fight; he wanted to watch Buffy fight.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've reached our final match." The distorted noise from the speaker pierced through the hall with its anticipating guests. "Or finalists in the 2004 Women's West Coast Boxing Championship are Buffy Summers and Wen Li." Spike zoomed in on the other girl, trying to assess what kind of challenge she would be. He hoped that she was a tough chick so Buffy could take her out in a blaze of glory. The women's eyes narrowed and the tension increased a few notches. Muscles flexed, feet moved anxiously on the floor, chests rising in a steady pace. Spike could almost feel the rush of adrenaline all the way from the spectator seats. This was going to be interesting. Around him he heard the crowd going wild, making sounds like various horny animals. Through the noise he could hear the fellow friends' voices from the seats next to him: "Go Buffy! Kick her ass! Punch her nose bone into her brain, it will give her permanent brain damage!"

At that last shout, Willow turned to the pep talker next to her. "God, Anya" she said, concerned. "Promise me on all that is holy that you won't become a cheerleader. Ever."

Anya just smiled laconically and turned back to the ring, clapping her hands cheerfully.

At that moment, the bell rang, and it like somebody had pushed an 'on' button. This was no longer foreplay, it was time for some heavy action. They danced around each other for a few moments before the first move came. The Asian girl threw a few punches, and managed to hit Buffy's shoulder. Buffy twisted from the force of the hit, but didn't loose her balance. Instead she countered with a series of forceful punches. Wen blocked them proficiently and retaliated, hitting Buffy on the side of the head. This really seemed to set Buffy off, and soon the ring was almost a blur of fists, twisting torsos and flying strands of hair. Spike could see Willow and Tara grimacing next to him. 'Sissies,' he thought, smiling to himself. No appreciation for the finer things in life. Like good clean violence.

The rest of the first round was an even, sweaty and painful affair. One time even Spike winced a little at the sight of Buffy taking a hard jab to the head.

When the second round started, Buffy didn't look happy. She almost immediately hit the other girl in the chest forcefully, sending her into the ropes. The judges sitting next to the ring looked closely and seriously at the action, as if it was a poker game and they were afraid of giving away the straight flush they were holding. Spike thought that Buffy was great, but he was biased, of course. Actually, he had no clue who was winning, partly because of the even contest, partly because he didn't know how the points were counted. Which sort of would have helped.

By the third round, Spike was completely lost in the fight in the ring in front of him. He didn't even hear the audience anymore. He was filled with admiration for his blonde co-worker. Anya was right; Buffy was a hurricane of violence. When the bell rang for the fourth and last round he leaned forward in his seat.

Buffy and Wen stared at each other for a moment before Buffy hit Wen's cheek with a hard right hook, followed by a couple of straight punches that Wen was able to block with some extra effort while stumbling a little. Skipping energetically, she aimed for Buffy's head. Buffy ducked one blow, and averted the other with her fists. They moved restlessly around each other. Their hair was slick against their sweaty foreheads and big wet spots had spread on their clothes. Their eyes were locked in a deadly gaze. Buffy suddenly hit Wen with a couple of lightning fast strikes, making her body spin from the force. Only a moment later, the bell rang.

Spike tensed. The referee took his place between the two exhausted women. There was a moment's wait when Spike almost thought he could feel the entire audience holding its breath. "Our 2004 champion," the referee said. Pause. "Buffy Summers!" he shouted, raising her fisted hand triumphantly in the air. Spike jumped up from his seat and cheered loudly, joining the enthusiastic choir around him. Buffy smiled, keeping her fist triumphantly in the air, but the smile looked somewhat pale. He wondered about it for a moment before he remembered what had happened earlier. Within moments, Buffy disappeared in a miniature swarm of people. Dawn, Anya, Tara and Willow quickly made their way down to the ring to congratulate her, leaving Spike in their wake. Spike squinted, but he could only make out a few strands of blonde hair and a sweaty arm. He just sighed and headed for the exit.

Buffy closed her eyes. The empty dressing room felt so soothingly quiet. Like a big wet blanket of void wrapped around her head. There had been so many strong feelings swarming around inside of her this day, struggling, mixing, interchanging. She couldn't help feeling like a battleground for some monster showdown. Her eyes turned to the big and rather hideous trophy next to her and she reached to pick it up. In all of the commotion, it felt good to have an unambiguous thing to hold on to. When it all came down, this is what she was: a winner. She sighed and tiredly threw her gym bag over her shoulder. When she opened the door the smooth evening air hit her face. It felt kind of comforting.

"Quite a vase you've got there. Plannin' on buying some fancy flowers?"

Buffy smiled and turned her head, "Well hello there. Didn't see you earlier."

Spike was leaning against the wall, one hand shoved in his duster pocket, the other one holding a cigarette. "Sorry, was kind of late," he answered. "Didn't miss the final, though. You were bloody brilliant!"

Buffy toyed a little with the trophy, looking pleased. "Yeah, I was."

"So, what's the winnin' trick, oh wise master?" he asked, putting out his cigarette.

Buffy smiled. "Hitting hard and dodging fast."

"Wow," he said with amused irony. "You should write a book, 'cause wisdom like that could make you rich."

"You didn't think I would give you all my important secrets right away?" she said. "Pfft, I won't reveal the full truth about Xenu and the aliens in the volcano for at least a few years."

"Really?" Spike tilted his head. "So boxin' is all about gettin' rid of all the unwanted inner aliens? Who would have guessed?

"Ssh, not so loud." She held out her hand. "And that'll be $2000 by the way."

Buffy and Spike laughed a little at their own silliness. "So, where are your buddies and devoted fans, by the way?" Spike asked.

"They hugged me and went home. No need for them to wait for me to talk to my trainer and shower." She raised an eyebrow. "Have you been waiting here since the competition ended?"

"Well, I didn't get a chance to congratulate you. Too many people." He motioned to the sunset. "Also, a nice evenin'. Great for hangin' about."

Suddenly there was a sound of the door opening, and Buffy heard a familiar voice. "Well, I guess I should congratulate you. You weren't quite as much of a pussy this time."

Buffy tensed and turned around. In front of the slowly closing door Faith stood, looking at Buffy with a self-assured smile and a black eye. Her white tank top clung tightly to her muscular body.

"I remember you lying at the floor some hours ago, whining, so being a pussy is something you should be well acquainted with." Buffy's voice was hard and cold as she looked at her bruised opponent.

Faith ignored Buffy's comment, suddenly looking straight at Spike with a sultry smile. "Well, well. What have we here?" She slowly walked up to Spike, studying him closely. "Smells like cigarettes, wears an obvious villain duster and naughty tight clothes." She tilted her head. "Then there's the nonchalant posture. Damn, B, you've scored a bad boy!"

"Stop staring at Spike!" Buffy said, glaring at her sports nemesis. Who did that bitch think she was? Nobody ogled Spike but Buffy! Especially not Faith!

"Spike?" Faith said, lifting an eyebrow. "Definitely a bad boy."

Spike had no idea who this chick was, but she was bloody hot. But a second later he stopped himself mid-sexy-smirk. Instead he just smiled faintly. "And you are?"

"Fucking gorgeous."

Buffy walked up to Spike with clenched teeth, grabbing his arm. "We're leaving," she said. "I've _so_ had my daily quota of Amazon catfights filled today."

Spike was thinking that he really wouldn't mind an Amazon catfight over the right to his tight little body, but for once he had sense enough to shut his mouth. "Yeah, and we're... busy... We have to go home and..."

"And fuck like bunnies on Viagra!" Buffy spat out. "Now, if you excuse us..." she said, turning with a quick, angry movement and walking with determined steps towards the parking lot.

"Yeah," Spike said with an amused smile. "Gotta go." He motioned towards Buffy. "You know, a boyfriend's work is never over." As Spike turned to follow Buffy, he choked back a chuckle.

"See you, B." Faith's voice echoed over the open, empty space between the big buildings that surrounded them.

"Not if there's a God," Buffy replied without turning around.

When they turned the corner, Spike hurried up to Buffy's side. "Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Nothing," Buffy said shortly.

"But, honey, honesty is important in a relationship," Spike said with a mock-serious voice.

"Um... sorry. Didn't mean to boyfriendify you like that." Buffy wrinkled her nose.

Spike chuckled. No problems. "Whenever you need a shake 'n' bake boyfriend, I'm at your service." Damn. There it was again: the guilt. He cleared his throat. "I mean, a fake one."

"Well, duh," Buffy said, walking up to her old white Saab. She sighed a little and leaned against the side of the car. "God, this day has been a disaster."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "But you won?"

"Yeah. But besides the Faith Encounter of the Third Kind, there was also the issue of my dad coming by, being unpleasantly friendly. And highly flammable." She rolled her eyes cynically at the memory, but her eyes were sad and tired.

"Yeah, I heard. Met the niblet and company earlier." Spike's voice quickly shifted from amused to concerned.

"Told you. Crazy pod person." Buffy looked up at Spike. "Hey, what are you doing now?"

Spike looked at the clock. "Angel's probably gonna..." He paused. "Nothin', I guess."

"Want to watch a movie or something? I could use some escapism and popcorn."

"Nothin' like some good ol' Hollywood Prozac, eh?" Spike asked.

"Nope. Your place or mine?" Buffy smiled.

"You've got toilet paper, clean floors, and a light bulb in the livin' room?"

"Um... yeah," Buffy said.

"Well, in that case, your place."

"I'm so not going to let you choose the movie again," Buffy said, pouting at the black-and-white film playing on the TV.

"What?" Spike said with a smile. "'Them!' is a classic!"

Buffy pointed at the screen. "But they're ants! Mutated ants! By atom bomb radiation!"

"Ok, so maybe it's not Oscar material, but you're missin' the point." Spike shoved some popcorn in his mouth. "It's a B movie, it's supposed to be lame," he said while chewing.

"What's up next? An attack of the 50-foot exterminator?"

Spike just chuckled and looked back at the movie. For a few moments they looked at the TV in silence. Suddenly Buffy sighed and crossed her arms. "This is so not working. 'Troja' or 'Fight Club' would have done the trick. This? Not so much. Not enough abs, too many exoskeletons." Though she was joking, her voice was sad.

"Still thinkin' about your dad?" Spike studied her closely.

"Yeah," she said softly, pulling her legs up on the sofa. She bit her lip. "I don't understand why he has to be such an asshole."

"Tell him to fuck off, then." Spike said.

"Could you ask your mother to fuck off?" Buffy asked with a telling look.

"Guess not." Spike smiled. "I suppose it's human nature, bein' as asshole I mean. Some are just assholes more often than others."

"I guess it's human nature that we put up with it, too."

"Human nature is pretty fucked up," Spike said.

Buffy closed her eyes. "So true."

Spike leaned a little closer. "But at least you mum seems nice. Your parental situation could've been worse."

"Yeah, she's great. Totally kept me from getting all troubled teen-y about the dad situation."

Spike smiled. "Somehow I have a hard time picturin' you as a fucked up crack whore."

Buffy's eyes snapped open. "I better hope so!" She laughed palely.

Suddenly a sharp ringing noise sounded from Spike's pocket. "Sorry," he said with a grimace. He got up from the sofa and reached for the phone. "Yeah? Oh, hi Angel." He walked over to the entryway. "Yeah, I don't work today. Aha, well... No, I'm not at home. You did?" Buffy could hear Spike pacing. "Well, I'm..." He lowered his voice. "I'm just hangin' out with Xander."

Buffy knew she wasn't supposed to hear that last thing. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

From the other room she could hear the conversation continuing. "No. Yeah, I'll be right back. See you soon." Spike sounded almost like an embarrassed teenager talking to his mother from an alcohol-drenched fraternity party. "Yeah, I love you too. Bye."

There was a small click, then Spike walked back into the living room. "I have to go," he said apologetically. "Are you goin' to be ok?"

She really could use some more of Spike's soothingly casual company, but she didn't intend to seem all clingy. "Yeah, no problem." She stepped up from the sofa. "So, was that Angel? He seemed a little... curious."

"Oh, it's nothing," Spike replied quickly, scratching the back of his head. "Anyway, I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, Buffy answered.

After Spike had closed the door behind him, she went back to the living room, slumping down into the sofa. On the screen, a gigantic ant crawled out of some kind of sand crater. She just sighed and reached for the popcorn. Yeah, this day still sucked.


	10. Parental Units Part 2

Spike shoved a piece of almost-burned bacon into his mouth, the crispy sound almost drowning out the noise of Jeopardy that filled the room. One of his legs was thrown over the side of the armchair and the other one was casually bent in front of him, the naked foot resting on the floor. Sundays, he thought, were definitely underestimated. Sure, it wasn't exactly a day for orgies and drinking contests, but it was great for slacking and seemed to have the effect of a deep tissue massage and weed. He smiled and pushed the arrow button on the remote that was resting in his grease-free hand, flipping through the channels. Paradise Hotel, M.A.S.H, some boring Civil War program on Discovery, Oprah… He sighed and took another piece of bacon from the plate that rested between his legs, wiping his hand on his torn jeans while chewing. …Firefly, some hip-hop video. Oh! Porn. Spike slouched back into the chair a little bit more, putting the remote down. He grinned at the sight of the couple getting it on on the TV screen, a blonde young woman faking pleasure as she got fucked from behind by some hairy guy whose face apparently wasn't important enough to capture. He sure could use some release since he still was latently horny from last night. Angel had toyed with him and then had finally decided that he wasn't in the mood and needed to go home and look through his tax reports. Bloody Angel.

To Spike's dismay, the doorbell's sudden buzz pierced through the porn sounds. He grimaced and reluctantly pulled himself out of the armchair, putting the plate down at the floor. "I'm comin'!" he grunted, throwing on a shirt. He padded over to the hall, squinting at the offensive sunlight that attacked him through the living room window. Opening the front door, he sighed and shifted his weight. "Hi mum," he said.

Jenny was standing outside, looking a little misplaced in the somewhat shabby hallway. Her proper but still modern outfit made her look a little like a social worker on a house call. A friendly smile played on her lips, and she tilted her head a little, looking almost curious. "Just thought I should stop by," she said and walked past him into the apartment, shedding her jacket. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Well," Spike said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I've been busy." He felt a little awkward. It was just too early for polite parent-socializing.

Jenny raised an eyebrow as she noticed the sounds of slapping and groaning coming from the living room. "Expanding your cultural horizons?"

Spike squirmed and walked over to the living room, turning the TV off. "Yeah, something like that," he muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment. He wouldn't usually care about getting caught watching porn, but mothers and smut weren't a winning combination.

Jenny followed him into the living room and pulled a chair out from where it was standing in the corner of the room. She sat down and glancing out over her beloved son's messy apartment without any comments. "So, how have you been?" she said as Spike slumped down into the armchair. She watched him closely as if she was trying to read his face like a skin-covered book.

"Great mum," he said. "Been workin' a lot."

"Just make sure you take time to have fun too," Jenny smiled.

Spike chuckled briefly, squinting as he looked out of the window. "Sure." He was silent for a moment. "I've started boxin'," he stated. "A co-worker is teachin' me."

"Oh?" Jenny said sounding genuinely interested. "You like it?"

"Yeah," Spike answered.

As Spike's words fluttered to the floor and faded away, the silence slowly started filling the room like a mental fog. For some reason, neither of them seemed to be able to come up with something say, something suitably general but not weather-related. Spike slumped down a little deeper in the chair, legs spread wide, shoulders drawn up a little. He picked up a small piece of bacon that he had dropped on the seat of chair and started fiddling with it like it was a tiny toy.

"So, William, how are things with Angel?" Jenny asked after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable void.

Spike groaned. "Nobody calls me that," he said, irritated.

Jenny sighed. "Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

"And whose fault is that?" he said, glancing at Jenny.

"Well then _Spike_, how are things with Angel?" Maybe it was the intonation or the pitch, but whatever it was, her pronunciation of Angel's name had a vague nuance of dislike that would have been easily missed in a less tense conversation.

Spike crossed his arms and looked out through the window again. "Fine. Just fine."

Jenny's shoulders fell a little. "Good," she said flatly.

_Many years ago_

Spike could barely hear his own voice over the sounds of laughing, talking and loud mainstream music that filled the crowded bar. "Cheers, mate!" Spike slurred as he clanked his beer bottle against his buddy's. Well, buddy was probably an overstatement since he couldn't really remember his name at the moment. In fact he didn't really know half the people around the table, but he didn't care. He was drunk and everybody was his buddy.

"Can't believe how much Dallas sucked yesterday," someone stated.

"Bloody stupid sport," Spike said, making a semi-threatening gesturewith his glass. "Didn't they read the memo about balls bein' round?"

The tipsy brunette sitting next to Spike, clinging to his arm like he was a wobbly buoy in a sea of beer, giggled, sounding like a baby hippo. "You're talking about soccer, right?" She asked.

"_Football_." Spike said, getting that universal look that meant that someone had offended the person's team/hobby/fandom/misc. "The name was ours first, you know," he muttered.

She smiled and pushed a strand of hair out of her face with an unsteady hand. "You're _soo_ cute when you're being all British," she said and kissed his cheek.

"Whatever you say," he paused for a moment, scanning his brain for the mental note with her name on it. "Cheryl," Spike added, grinning.

Cheryl yawned and placed her head on Spike's shoulder. "Think it's time to go home."

"The night's barely started, love." He turned her head and kissed her hard.

When Spike pulled away, Cheryl giggled again. "You're cute, but I have to go." She got up on somewhat unstable feet and grabbed her handbag.

"Oh, come on," he said and took her hand. "Be a bad girl and stay out after curfew." He smiled his sexiest smile, with his head tilted a little.

"Sorry, I'm tired." She carefully pulled her hand out of his grip. Smiling, she started walking towards the exit. She turned her head and blew Spike a kiss before the rustic bar door closed behind her. Spike almost pouted, then sighed and downed the last of his beer.

As always, people leaving seemed to have sort of a contagious effect. Around the table, the others started moving a little, looking at the clock. "I think I'm following the chick's example," a tattooed blond guy said. "I'm working tomorrow."

"Workin'?" Spike said and crossed his arms. "Can't really imagine you workin'."

"Well, I sit in the newspaper stand, 'borrow' cigarettes and read Playboy. Occasionally I sell something."

Spike chuckled. "And you need rest for that?"

"Hey, folding out all those centerfolds is tiresome," the guy said and got up from his chair. All the others around the table also started reaching for their jackets and drinking the last of their alcohol.

An unpleasant feeling emerged in his chest, but he pushed it away. "Come on guys, it's only…" he looked at the Heineken clock at the wall. "One. Seriously, just another beer, it's Saturday." His voice was a little desperate.

The big guy standing next to him chuckled. "Shouldn't you be at home by now, tucked in under your Spiderman sheets like a good kid?"

"Hey, I'm 21!" Spike slurred, crossing his arms.

"You know, getting a fake ID that says you're 21 doesn't mean that you actually become 21," the guy answered, grinning. "It's still the day that your mom squeezed you out of her pussy that counts."

Spike grunted and got up from the chair, grabbing the duster that had fallen down at the floor sometime during the evening.

"See you Saturday," the guy said and slapped Spike's back. The other ones also said their goodbyes as they left the bar, leaving him standing alone at the table, suddenly feeling sort of lost and lonely.

He sighed and pulled on his coat with clumsy movements. Suddenly, the feeling was there again. Like something slowly wrapping around his intestines. He felt sort of cold, and pulled his duster closer around his body, but without result. With quick steps he made his way through the thinning crowd. He pushed open the door with a sharp motion and the warm night air hit his face. It didn't feel soothing, though, it felt like a damp blanket that clung to him like a second skin. He pulled out the flask of very cheap and crappy booze that he had been carrying lately as a last resort in times of drought. It burned its way down his throat and left a smoky aftertaste on his tongue. Combined with the fuzzy drunk feeling in his body, it made him feel sort of sleazy. His mind was slowly getting more and more foggy, and as he started walking down the main street, he tried half-heartedly to stay on the sidewalk but failed miserably. The city around him seemed really dark and gloomy, and the brightly colored signs that announced the sex shops, the cafés and the underground clubs only made it seem even more tragic than a desperate and heartbreaking town like LA usually was. Luckily, most of the oncoming traffic consisted of pedestrians, and to his own surprise he dodged most of the happy couples, drunk teenage girls and loud groups of guys that crossed his path. He didn't feel too good, he really didn't. There was the faint nausea, the headache-to-be that was lurking somewhere deep in his brain, but there was also that dark, unpleasant feeling that kept slowly covering his soul like a vicious tar leakage. For a moment he closed his eyes tightly before stumbling over something and almost falling on his face in a pathetic slapstick manner. He groaned and grabbed a lamp post to steady himself while looking out over the street, looking for a taxi to bring him home.

"William."

The sound of his name echoed through his head like a game of verbal pong. He faintly heard the sound of what probably was his own groan as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to shove the noise away. Suddenly he started becoming aware of the taste of dead badger in his mouth, and light hitting his face like a 1000 watt industrial flashlight. He groaned again and turned his head, feeling a small pool of drool on the pillow.

"William."

Sounds. Again. He twisted, and slowly started opening his eyes, feeling like they were clogged up with sand and glue. Moments later he squinted up at his mother who was looking down at him with a stern expression that he hadn't seen on her since… well, never. His mum wasn't the stern type. Which meant that he was in serious trouble. He opened his mouth to make an excuse, but only tragic gurgles came out.

"I stepped in you puke in the hallway when I got home from the airport this morning."

Bloody hell. Right, he puked in the hallway. He probably should have cleaned it up before…

"And in the bathroom."

Fuck. He started trying to free himself from the cocoon of sweaty beddings.

"Exactly how drunk were you yesterday?"

He glanced up at her, noticing that her arms were crossed in a not so friendly manner. He didn't answer; instead he just pushed his face into the pillow, trying to force himself to fall asleep again.

"You're a minor, William." She was silent for a moment. "Don't do this to yourself," she continued with a hint of shiver in her voice.

Spike closed his eyes tighter and turned his head away from her. "It's my life," he groaned in an unsteady voice.

"Look at me." Her voice poked at him in a very uncomfortable way. "William, look at me," she said a little louder.

Spike sighed and turned slowly, feeling the quilt tightening around his legs.

"You're not ok," she said simply, dropping her hands to her sides.

"I drink. I'm a teenager, that's what we do," he snapped.

She closed her eyes for a moment, looking tired. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Spike felt an anger rising inside of him. "What I know is that it's bloody early in the mornin', and you're in my bedroom whinin'!" He stared at her with searing eyes as he pulled himself up on the bed. Pushing the bedding away, he stood up on unsteady feat. "I have to take a piss," he mumbled, stumbling past her.

"William!" she shouted.

When he turned there were tears in her eyes. She suddenly looked lost, almost like a wounded animal. He had only seen that look once before, and he lost his track, feeling almost like she had slapped him. "I know that we've been through a lot. I know what Rupert's death did to you, but you have to deal with it." She took a step closer. "You're not ok," she said, placing her hand on his arm. "You have to let me help you. Alcohol isn't going to do the trick."

"I don't need help," he grunted, pulling his arm away like she had burned him. "I need some goddamn sleep."

"We were best friends," she said quietly. "It wasn't long ago, you know. We talked about everything. Why won't you talk to me about this?"

"I'm not a bloody kid anymore!" His jaws twisted. "You can keep your shrink crap to yourself! I'm fine!"

Now she was full out crying, desperation shining in her eyes. "Since he died…"

"He's gone! End of story!" He headed towards the door once more, looking furious.

"William please…" she said, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Fuck off!" he said, shoving her away with a furious motion. She stumbled back into the room, and for a moment they both stared at each other in shock. Everything was completely silent except for their rapid breaths, which suddenly seemed very noisy. Finally, Spike inhaled loudly. "Bathroom," he said in a low voice and turned his back on her. Storming out of the room he could feel her eyes burning into his back, making him all disturbed and shivery. As he burst through the bathroom door he locked it quickly, falling to his knees in front of the toilet just before his stomach expelled the last if its contents. At this point it was mostly bile, and the taste made him even more nauseous. Everything felt horrible and awful. His whole being seemed to consist of nausea, of dirty and gross things that just didn't seem to want to spill into the toilet. When the spasms finally stopped, he let his head fall down on the toilet seat, the slightly cool plastic soothing against his sweaty skin. He was shaking, and suddenly a vicious headache pierced though his brain. Closing his eyes, he slid down from the toilet, ending up on the floor with his knees pulled up against his chest. Breathing was painful, swallowing was painful, moving was painful. Behind his closed eyes, his tight chest, his tense muscles, black feelings were screaming at him, tearing at his guts. He cradled his head in his arms, squirming on the hard floor.


	11. Chapter 11

As Spike slowly drifted into wakefulness, he was rather abruptly awoken by the feeling of a slick cock sliding into his ass. He twitched from the sharp pain caused by the intrusion, then he gasped against the pillow as he felt the pressure against his prostate. The heavy body on top of him pressed him down into the mattress. He could feel hot puffs of air hitting his ear just before Angel's voice reached his ear, smooth as melted chocolate. "Good morning," Angel whispered.

* * * * *

As Buffy's fist hit she felt the impact reverberate through the tense muscles, travel along the nerves, and into her shoulder. The sweat trailed cool tendrils over her hot skin, and small drops sprayed through the air from her movements. Her hair clung, unnoticed, to her face in small, wet strands. Her attention was completely focused on the muscular guy in front of her – a slightly balding middle-aged man with latino features and a concentrated look on his face. She watched for telltale signs in the tension of his muscles, the movement of his limbs and the direction of his gaze. His elbow rose a little, just a little, then the punch came. She blocked it with her fist, quickly retaliating with a couple of fast blows. He blocked the first one, but the other one hit his shoulders.

"Good, Buffy," the man exclaimed, his voice strained from exhaustion.

They danced around each other for a few more minutes, moving gracefully while trading punches. "Ok Buffy, I think we're done for today," the man finally said, panting a little. "Good work," he said, slapping her on her back. "Your right hook is really improving."

Buffy smiled. "Yeah, Ricardo, I sting like a bee, huh? Need some work on my footwork, though. Still haven't really gotten the hang of that butterfly floating thing." She pulled off her gloves and shook her swollen hands.

He paused and looked at her in silence for a moment. "Have you ever thought of trying to become a pro?"

Buffy stopped, looking up at her trainer. "Pro?" She felt stunned. She had never thought about it or viewed it as an option. Sure, she knew she was good, but… a pro?

"I've been thinking about it for a while," he said, removing his worn gloves. "Not that I'm saying that it would be easy to get drafted, but if you want to we could try."

Buffy looked at him with a slightly skeptical expression. "You think I'm good enough?" she asked, feeling a sudden streak of self-consciousness.

"I think you're starting to be," he said, wiping his sweaty neck with a towel.

Suddenly Buffy's head was filled with all the possible consequences of the choice she had been presented. Was that really what she wanted? Would she give up bartending for boxing? Well, duh, of course she would. She wasn't quite as sure that her dear parents would like it if she had beating the crap out of willing people as a day job. Dawn, of course, would be cheerfully impressed, though. How about the working hours? And what about the possible injuries? How long could she support herself through boxing? And how much money was involved? And… well… was she good enough? Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and a voice coming from the hallway.

"Yeah, love you too," Spike's voice echoed, sugar sweet, from the adjacent room.

"Mm… can't wait…" his voice got smooth. "At five. Yeah… five… yeah, I will."

Moments later Spike entered the training room with an overstuffed plastic bag dangling from his hand. "Bye Angel," he purred. Ending the call he looked up at Buffy and her trainer. "Here I am," he said, grinning, "so let's get this party started."

"Well, then, Pink," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "You better go get dressed, 'cause that duster will get in the way."

As Spike left for the dressing room the trainer looked at Buffy with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. "Taking in strays?" he said with an amused voice.

"Just teaching a friend boxing," she said.

"Friend?" he said skeptically.

"Yeah, _friend_," she grunted, glaring at him. "Why don't you go and do whatever boxing trainers do in their spare time."

"Fine," he said, smiling. "Stamp collecting it is," he said, grabbing his training bag.

"Oookay," she said, raising an eyebrow Spock-ishly.

He started walking towards the door, but stopped after a couple of steps and turned. "Listen, just make sure that you prioritize your own training." He paused. "And think about what I suggested, ok?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sure." As her trainer disappeared out the door her thoughts started spinning again, stirring an excitement in her gut. Her pondering was abruptly interrupted, though, by Spike's voice.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Huh?" she said, her hair flying through the air as she turned her head quickly.

"Looks like you're thinking hard." Spike was standing outside the locker room door. "Better watch it or you're goin' to get wrinkles on you brain." He was looking her with a smile. A tight white tank top clung to his chest. Buffy like. Bad Buffy.

"I was just weighing my options."

"Vanilla or chocolate chip?"

"Violence or booze."

"You know, usually those two mix pretty well," Spike said and chuckled. Pulling on a pair of gloves he walked over to Buffy and the sandbag that was hanging from the floor like an oversized mobile. "So, what about the violence and the booze?"

"My trainer thinks I should try to become a pro boxer," she said with badly hidden pride in her voice.

"Really?" Spike said with badly hidden admiration in his voice.

"Yeah, really," she said softly as she pulled on her gloves.

"So, are you gonna do it?" Spike said, halfhearted throwing some tentative punches at the bag.

"It's hard to get drafted," she said, mirroring his punches from the other side of the bag.

"So?" Spike said, "you can do it."

Buffy smiled smugly, looking at Spike. She stepped out from behind the bag and raised her fists. "Well, in that case you better watch out, 'cause you're going to get your ass kicked by a future master."

Spike assumed the stance, smiling back. "Cool with me."

*****

"So, is getting robbed and raped on tonight's agenda?" Buffy asked. She pulled her coat around her when she squinted into the alley and spotted a rat the size of a poodle. After he convinced her to "celebrate" with a couple of beers she should have insisted on choosing where to go. Several blocks from the bar Buffy had realized that they weren't exactly going to the fanciest place in town. The increasing amounts of trash and hobos was a telltale sign, after all.

"If that's your fetish," Spike said, kicking off a plastic bag that had gotten stuck on his shoe, "there's a couple of shady clubs around here where I'm sure you can get your kicks."

"Um, no thanks." Buffy muttered. "Damn, I really should have brought my nunchuks."

A brisk wind pulled up some leaves and used napkins and made them dance in the air like confetti against the dirty walls covered in frayed posters for concerts and clubs.

"You don't need nunchuks," Spike chuckled. "You're Chuck Norris, without the beard."

"You know," Buffy said, mock pouting, "Walker: Texas Ranger compliments aren't really compliments."

"Fine," Spike said, smiling. "Be like that."

The faint noise of laughter and rock became louder, and as they turned a corner, Buffy spotted a brown, shabby door with a colored glass mosaic pattern and a dirty doorknob that reminded Buffy about all those scary statistics for bacteria in public places. Next to the entrance stood a couple of rather worn women in clothes too tight and short for their age, smoking and talking.

"Here we go," Spike said proudly, almost like a parent showing off a picture of his kid. He pushed his way past the women, causing some grunts, and Buffy followed like an obedient little duckling. When he opened the door the sharp stink of smoke hit her face, the music and talking was a compact wall of sound. Someone shouted Spike's name, and he shook the hands of a couple of acquaintances.

Buffy looked around and crinkled her nose. The people in the small, crowded bar didn't exactly seem to be the type who knew in which order to use the cutlery at finer dinners. The atmosphere of intoxication, testosterone, and over the top female flirting was poignant.

Spike looked over at Buffy. "Oh, I'm sorry princess. Are you getting your golden slippers dirty?"

Buffy just rolled her eyes. They walked past some guys who looked like they were gang members, big man with vests covered with insignias. They stared at her in a way that made her feel kind of dirty and she looked away, trying to ignore them. As they got to the bar, Spike pushed in between two ladies in their forties who had tried to hide their crow's feet in heavy layers of makeup.

"Mark!" he shouted, raising his arm to get the bald and bearded bartender's attention. "Two Budweisers!" He seemed to get heard over Metallica and all the people talking around them since the bartender turned to get a couple of bottles from the fridge.

"I haven't seen you here for a while, Spike!" Mark shouted back as he handed him the bottles. "Been up to no good?"

"Always!" Spike said, tossing him a couple of crumpled bills from the pocket of his duster.

"Who's the Malibu Barbie?" He glanced over at Buffy.

Spike smiled. He turned and handed her the beer, disturbing the thin veil of cigarette smoke that filled the air, then he started pacing towards a round table in the back of the room where four guys were getting ready to leave. The table turned out to be just as sticky as it looked. Buffy reluctantly sat down and started sipping on her beer. "So, what is new with you, darling?" Spike said with a very fake upper-class British accent. "Except for moving up in the sports world that is".

Buffy laughed, then drank from her beer.

"Any new social events?" Spike asked, tilting his head, still trying to embody a Jane Austen character.

"Nope," too busy.

"Any new gossip?" He continued.

"See above", she said, smiling.

"Any new male acquaintances?" He said, raising his eyebrows.

Buffy stiffened a little. The only one that had she had gotten interested in lately was Spike, so this was a subject she preferred to avoid. "Nope, next question," she said a little bit too quick.

"Hey, Xander is single, you're single, it would be a match made in heaven!" he said jokingly.

Buffy laughed nervously. "Haven't you gotten the memo – women can be single _and_ happy nowadays. Contrary to the questionable message of Sex and the City, women can live without both men and fancy shoes." She drank from her beer again, finishing it. Buffy recalled that she hadn't had any dinner and she contemplated to get some nuts or something to soak up the alcohol.

She saw that Spike was ready to give her a dirty and ironic remark, but before he got that far he froze, and then sat up straight, as if a stern school teacher had slammed a ruler on the table. "Fuck," he spat out as he quickly looked at his watch.

"What is it?" Buffy said, worried.

"I said I'd drop by at Angel's at five, it's half past," he mumbled as he pulled up his cell phone, dialing quickly. He tapped his fingers "I want a cab." He picked up a receipt and read the address printed under the logo. "Um… 10 Johnston Road." He was silent for a moment, tapping a finger against the bottle in front of him. "Twenty minutes?!" he spat out, tapping the bottle a bit harder. He gazed out the window at the street outside, looking disappointed. "Fine! Send your bloody cab then, Spike's the name," he hissed before swiftly hanging up. He then dialed another number. His shoulders tensed and as he spoke his voice altered, becoming lighter, softer and hesitant. Buffy felt uncomfortable as she watched Spike change before her eyes. "Hi, I'm sorry, I'm on my way home."

Buffy suddenly felt someone tap on her shoulder. "Wanna dance, honey?" a bearded, skinny and clearly high guy in a worn Godzilla t-shirt shouted through the music, swaying slightly from side to side.

Buffy grunted. "No thanks!"

"Come on, baby", he grunted, started to move offbeat to the Aerosmith song in the background.

Buffy cringed. "No, it's… um… against my religion." She shrugged her shoulders. "Can't help that Ganesha frowns upon dancing." She turned quickly, just catching Spike ending his call. A moment ago he hade been cocky Spike, now he looked a bit like a kid who had broken his mother's antique vase and was waiting to get spanked. Something felt wrong. She made a grimace "Um… sorry. Didn't mean to detain you."

"No, it's ok," he said, slumping down in the chair casually, as if he had noticed that he seemed weird. The result looked awkward.

"So, um, you guys have something important planed tonight?" she said, testing the waters.

"Er… not really. Or, well, no." He briefly looked out the window again.

"Everyone's late sometimes, right? Last year dad came two days late for my birthday party. And my gift was a cactus and a spatula," she said cheerfully.

"Well, I'm late a lot. All the time, really. Drives Angel crazy. He's kind of particular about stuff like that," Spike said.

Buffy took a deep breath. "He seems kind of particular about a lot of things."

It was quiet just a second too long. "Well, yeah," Spike said, looking at his beer bottle. "I'm glad he puts up with me, I'm not exactly good at keeping appointments, or manners or, you know, cleaning and stuff."

"Come on – you're a great catch!"

"Hell yeah!" he said, suddenly sounding like himself again. "I'm bloody Prince Charming!"

Buffy was quiet for a moment, biting her lip a little "So, when are we getting to meet Angel? Again, I mean. Our last encounter was, um, pretty brief." As she saw him subtly cringe she added, "or are you afraid that we will scare him off? I'll be good, I'll swear, and I'll tell Xander not to tell any Star Wars jokes."

Spike looked uncomfortable. "He ain't really into group socializin', meetin' the friends and stuff like that. He prefers to have me all to myself. And who can blame him?" he said, smugly putting his hands behind his head. He glanced out the window and quickly took his hands down and pulled op his wallet. "The cab is here, love," he said, throwing a couple of bills on the table. He hurried to throw on his duster and looked at Buffy. "Thanks for the lesson, gotta go home to my significant other," he said, smirking before dashing out the door.

Buffy glanced after him, feeling a bit confused and concerned. Something was going on, and she didn't like it.

"Heeey honey," as she turned she noticed a heavy, balding guy, with a plaid shirt that strained over his belly, smiling at her. "So, you're here all alone? Want a drink?"

Buffy cringed. "Sorry, I have to go. My doctor told me to get lots of sleep on account of, um, my syphilis.

* * * * *

Spike felt his heart beat hard as he hurried up the stairs. Why the hell did he have to find the slowest cab driver in town? Seriously, would it kill the guy to drive instead of talking? Like the radio set to Easy Rock 97.4 wasn't bad enough. Spike felt his muscles getting tenser for every step. Fuck, Angel would be mad. There was a limit for how much Angel would put up with, right? As he reached his door he fumbled with his keys and as he pushed up the door he stepped in. "Hey Angel, I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I was just…"

The fist flew at him from the right and impacted with his temple. He felt the knuckles hitting bone and it felt like his heart stopped beating for a second out of pure terror. There was no time to make sense of what was happening before his head was thrown against the wall by the blow, making his other temple hit the frame of a mirror that shattered over his head. A ringing sound and an intense dizziness instantly appeared and he felt himself slide down the wall. Through the mental fog Spike heard Angel screaming, with a voice filled with hatred: "Didn't you think I'd hear her in the background, that blond whore!"


End file.
